In Esse In Perpetuum
by Ada Kensington
Summary: An idea for a Birkin fic that I've been playing around with for a while now. The lovely Leon S. Kennedy also plays a starring role. It's not too bad. You should try it out. UPDATE: What the hell? An update? Chapter Six: Wesker finally makes an appearance.
1. Chapter One

In Esse In Perpetuum

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AN: This is dedicated to all the Birkin-fic fans out there, who are desperate for more. Especially the ones known to me by leaving each a kind review for my last attempt: Hello Captain, Ramen Kitty, Shakhanna (who seems to be more of a Wesker fan, but what the hell!), Kerria and Dman (who isn't necessarily a Birkin fan, but someone I'd like to thank and encourage to keep on writing, regardless!) The last attempt was well-received and I'd like a repeat performance with this - but it's… well… a little different. See what you think!

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Floating… 

Here, in this space, if space it was indeed, there was no concept of time. Time was irrelevant. Thought was irrelevant. Pain was irrelevant. Loss and hatred were irrelevant. Everything was irrelevant. It was just a void. A nothing that seemed to stream out into the furthest reaches of infinity _in perpetuum._ The self trapped in a world of formlessness in which you could do nothing. Choice was irrelevant. Action was irrelevant. _Everything was irrelevant…_

It was not calm, or serenity, or contentment. For in order to prescribe to a particular feeling, one has to be in a particular state of mind. Here, there was no concept of self - no state of mind as one would understand. It was all irrelevant. There was no need to feel, or to be. It was indescribable. It was incomprehensible. It was nothing. 

For an indeterminate length of time, there was nothing but the void. Nothing but a blank, all-consuming darkness. Before, there had been something… but there was nothing resembling memory. Memory was irrelevant here. It hurt.

At one point, a very faint shimmer of light penetrated the shadows in the form of feelings. Of doubt and discomfort - faint echoes from beyond the shores of consciousness. Noises, it seemed. Strange noises. Something was wrong. The noises grew louder, faded and died. The feelings of doubt and discomfort did not. If anything, they had only been heightened and were now accompanied by apprehension… 

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So cold… 

… and cold, which was strange, as with it, came more new sensations: fingers, toes, arms, legs, bare skin, the gentle rise and fall of a chest whilst… breathing. It was what he… yes… _he…_ had been fighting against. He didn't want to come back. It hurt too much.

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Please, not yet… Not yet…

Fighting, trying to regress back into nothingness, he found the urge to feel, to be, too strong. The darkness was fading. There was nothing he could do about it. The bright glaring light of consciousness pierced the veil. His eyes snapped open…

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… and he screamed.

*** *** ***

There was something on his face, covering his mouth and nose. Frantically, he clawed at it with numb fingers for a horrible moment before realising that it was a rubber mask. He was surrounded by water and encased in a glass tube. Given his current situation, removing the very thing that was keeping him alive would not be particularly advantageous. Forcing himself to calm down, he drew in deep, long breaths through the oxygen mask and tried to gather his thoughts.

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A stasis tube… I'm in a laboratory?

Looking around, it seemed so. Placing his hands, palm first, onto the cold glass, he could make out a steel autopsy table, draped with a sheet of crisp, white paper under a bright, white light, and a door at the other end of the room, sporting a familiar red and white emblem, centring in his slowly reddening field of vision. 

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Umbrella…

Now he remembered. 

A cold wave of realisation flooded through him. He didn't want to go back. He couldn't go back. Not without hurting those who had hurt him and so many others for so long. Not without vengeance. He wanted to bring down Umbrella, to make them realise, to make them pay…

But how was he going to get out of here? Surely someone would be watching him even at this very moment from behind a monitor, ready with sedatives or even with a gun to put him out of his misery. For hours, he just stayed still, waiting - but no one came. Something was definitely wrong. 

Suddenly, from nowhere, the room plunged into darkness and he felt himself being pulled inexorably forward by a swirling current of water through where the glass should have been. He fell to the cold floor of the laboratory with a muffled thud and the contents of the stasis tube rushed over him, flooding the room. For a long time, he just lay there, shivering and gasping for air, wondering vaguely why no-one had come to deal with him. If it had been him, he certainly would have noticed if the contents of a stasis tube had spilled - in fact, there was absolutely no chance of it even coming to that, unless…

The noises he had caught snatches of during his return to consciousness. They were the sounds of frightened people, of screams, of pain, of gunfire, of death and destruction and of too little, too late. He knew those noises only too well.

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Shit…

A leak? He felt a thrill of horror as a back-catalogue of every possible Umbrella creation which could now be running amok outside passed through his mind. The worst part was, was that he didn't even know where he was, which meant he didn't know what he was up against. Even though this room was safe, there was no chance of staying here. He knew Umbrella. Eventually, they'd either send in a team to clean up or they would activate the fail-safe. He was going to have to find a way out of here.

Staggering upright on legs weak from lack of use, he grabbed the sheet of paper from the steel autopsy table and wrapped it around him like a towel. It may not have done for keeping warm, but he felt it necessary to salvage any vestiges of dignity he had left. Smiling grimly at the thought, he brushed strands of drying, hair away from his eyes with a pale hand. However, when he reached the door, he hesitated.

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It doesn't matter… If you get caught, you deserve it after all you've done…

This was true. If he was killed, then he did deserve it. A fitting end. Though if he somehow managed to survive… uninfected… then he'd be able to exact his revenge on Umbrella. Simple.

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If you're not already still infected…

He harboured no delusions as to why Umbrella was keeping him here. They were obviously planning to use him, if they had not already done so. To use him to try and find out about… about… 

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Bastards…

A reckless anger seized him. Stretching out a pale arm, he grabbed the handle, wrenching the door open and stepped out into the corridor, slamming the door shut behind him with a bang that echoed loudly into the shadows. Outside, the corridor was pitch black and he couldn't make out his own hand in front of his face. Cringing instinctively, he crouched low, waiting for an unidentifiable Umbrella something-or-other to leap out from the darkness and sink its virulous claws into him.

Instead, the lights came back on, after a fashion. 

Baffled, he looked left and right, his watery, blue eyes red and stinging from his immersion in the stasis tube. There was nothing there. The door he had just come out of was on a corner of two long corridors perpendicular to one another, each dotted with doors leading off to other rooms. Low floor lights illuminated his surroundings with a cold, greenish glow. A little down the way, there was something encased in a glass box. He padded down the corridor in his bare feet, leaving a trail of water behind him and looked through the glass. Smiling, he realised that it was a map of the facility.

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Excellent… At least I'll know what I'm up against…

Clutching at his makeshift paper clothing, he peered in at the map. His eyes were itching like hell.

North Sea Facility:

You are here.

North Sea Facility. Wonderful. As far as he could remember (everything was still very much a blur) that meant he was currently trapped on an oil rig halfway between Scotland and the Antarctic, and that the only way to get in and out was by helicopter. He thought he could remember that they had been developing BOWs for sea-warfare, the Leviathan Series, meaning shark, octopi and crab-like T-hybrids and possibly Albinoids. Not to mention the odd RE3 and the T-001 water adaptability experiments. But then, he wasn't quite sure. His head ached tremendously. Looking at the map, there was a red arrow pointing to the two corridors. It appeared he was currently in the B5 level - Basement Five, he surmised. The exit was on the ground floor along with a helicopter landing pad. 

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Terrific… Five floors of God-knows-what between myself and escape… and only back-up power, from what I can see of the floor lighting, which means no elevators…

And there was another question that had been lingering in the back of his mind. His eyes scanned the map for a certain room and - with a nod of grim satisfaction - he found it.

Q10, B5: Power Room.

Someone had to be hanging around in order to have turned off the power. If it was anyone from Umbrella - surviving researchers or a clean up team - then he didn't want to be hanging around out here waiting for them to put a bullet through his brain. The researchers' lodgings for the B5 level were a couple of doors down, just at the end before the power room. He'd go in there and try and find some clothes…

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… and a few guns and a few more rounds of ammunition would be nice.

Suddenly, a shot rang out from one of the rooms further down the corridor. Immediately, his head whipped round to the source of the noise, and for a moment, he listened in silence, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. There was a shrill shriek and several more shots were fired. Cautiously, he started to pace toward the Researcher's Lodgings, in case anything unpleasant jumped out at him through the door. If it was what he thought it was - a RE3 fresh from its prison - then it could most certainly find a way out of the power room. With its heightened olfactory senses, it would have no trouble sniffing him out. His head was really beginning to hurt. Then, there was another shot, another shriek, this time sounding very final, and then silence.

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Run…

Instinctively, his legs took over and he threw open the door to the Researchers' Lodgings and slammed it shut behind him. The sight and smells that greeted him in the room made him gag, and immediately, he slapped his hands over his mouth and nose.

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Oh God…

The room was long and narrow, opening up at the opposite end into a larger living space for Umbrella employees. On his left and right were sets of capsule bunks stretching from floor to ceiling. Some of the bunks still held their unfortunate occupants, dead and rotting in varying stages of decay. Averting his eyes, he gingerly stepped over the body of a woman lying at his bare feet and yelped as he almost slipped on a puddle of dark, congealing blood. Almost at once, he regretted it. From round the corner, came a gurgling moan.

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Shit…

His only chance was to make a dash for it. 

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Run forward… Find something to kill it with. 

So he stumbled desperately past the bunks, still clutching at his paper sheet, into the living space ahead. In there was a television, a coffee table, atop which were magazines and old cups of coffee, a few sofas, a sink, kitchen facilities, a fire extinguisher… and lockers. 

Unfortunately, a human viral carrier was blocking the way, a rotting mess of skin and bone shuffling forward, torn shreds of lab coat still clinging to its putrid flesh. Blind eyes coated with a white, eggy, mucous, stared, unseeing, at him, wanting only to tear chunks of raw meat from bone to satiate its voracious appetite. The sight of it made him stop and stare.

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The T-Virus wasn't meant for humans… Look what it's doing… This is your fault… This is all your fault… This is what hundreds of people have died for… If it kills you, then it would be a fitting end… A fitting end… You're just as much a monster as this thing…

In a detached way, he noted how quickly it moved for something in such an advanced state of decay, how it was almost on him, its arms stretching out to receive him. He noticed that the skin on its forearms had sloughed off in chunks, bone glistening wetly through torn muscle fibre and tissue. There were teeth marks. Suddenly, it stumbled and hit the floor with a wet slap, snapping him out of his reverie. A gust of fetid air drifted up to greet him, and he shrank backwards, his icy blue eyes wide with horror, as calcareous fingers wrapped tightly around his ankle.

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It's going to bite me… Need something… Anything…

With a last frantic lunge, he wrenched the fire extinguisher from the wall. The viral carrier moaned, irritated that its latest prize should attempt to run away, and went to plunge its broken teeth into fresh blood. Instead, it found its head knocked completely off course and being ground into the cold tiled floor of what was once its home. Fragments of bone and gore splattered across his face, but he kept on smashing the end of the extinguisher relentlessly into the carrier's head, again, and again, and again, terrified that it would get up. There was a loud, wet crack as its skull caved in, but he kept on and on and on until it had dissolved into a gristly pulp. Then, exhausted, he stopped, letting the extinguisher slip from his hands and fall to the floor with a hollow clatter.

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I did this… This is all my fault… Everything is my fault…

Trembling violently from both fear and exertion, he walked over to the sofa and sat down with his head in his hands. Then, he threw up repeatedly until there was nothing else left to throw up and his sides ached and his lips stung. For a couple of minutes, he just sat there, staring at the floor and at the puddle of blood that was oozing its way toward his feet. When the little river of clotted crimson was just about to touch his bare feet, he blinked, stood up and walked over to the lockers. 

Fortunately, they weren't locked. It would have been more than he could have handled at the moment if they had been, and he proceeded to ransack each locker of its contents. After a couple of minutes, he had salvaged a pair of jeans (two sizes too big for him), a white shirt, a pair of Reeboks (size nine) and a black rucksack - all of which he was now wearing. Also stuffed in lockers were two handguns (each fully loaded), a .45 Magnum (empty) and a first-aid kit. As a bonus, he found half a box of untouched Mars bars, which, as he had been in that stasis tube for god knows how long and was absolutely ravenous, didn't last any length of time. Another quick search lead to him finding some microwave meals in the fridge next to the sink that he could use if any complications arose and he needed something quick. 

After doing a check of everything in his possession, he turned away from the lockers and headed back across the living space, past the bunk capsules - deliberately not looking at the floor where he'd left the dead carrier - and opened the door to find a young man with reddish-brown hair pointing a gun at him. There was a click and a flash of metal and instantly, the man fired. He fell to the floor and the shot went over his head. There was another click as the stranger reloaded and took a step forward, intending not miss this time…

"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" he called out hoarsely. "I'm not a zombie! _Please! I'm not a zombie! Don't shoot…_" 

The man looked at him up and down, still training the gun at his head, and after what felt like an age, very hesitantly lowered his gun. The stranger took a tentative step forward and grasped his hand, hauling him to his feet. 

"Sorry," the man grimaced, running a mucky hand through his hair, though clearly relieved to see another permanent resident of the land of the living. "It's been almost two days already and I guess I've gotten used to shooting everything that's walking in this shit hole."

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Two days…?

The man offered a hand again and smiled.

"My name's Leon, what's yours?"

"William," he replied, shaking the man's hand - now known as Leon - and meeting Leon's steady blue gaze with his own. "My name's William…"

*** *** ***

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AN: Oooh! Cliffhanger! There is so much potential for the proverbial mind-fuck in this story, there really is…

Now, I'm going to take the liberty of explaining myself because there's going to be some pretty shocked faces out there. My reasons for doing this are quite simple:

One, I like writing about William Birkin. It's a fun thing to do and not a lot of people do it. Two, if certain Resident Evil protagonists such as Albert Wesker, Dr Marcus and Alexia Ashford can be brought back (and there is a possibility of a reappearance from Steve Burnside,) then Umbrella, in their infinite wisdom, could certainly find a way to restore William Birkin (maybe through cloning him or some silly shit like that - I don't know, I'm no science buff - make up your own minds). Three, I have two papers due in by the end of my three week break, and this, in my mind, is the most productive way to procrastinate!

Now, I'm away to procrastinate some more by watching some TV. Thanks for reading. Also, if you could, leave a review on your way back into fanfictionland. It's probably the most non-canon thing I've ever written (I'm usually a hardcore canon-thumper) but, the idea has so much potential for messing with characters' heads that I just couldn't resist. For that reason alone, I'd like to know what you think.

Chapter two should be up sometime… 

Thanks for reading.

- Ada K.


	2. Chapter Two

In Esse In Perpetuum

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The man offered a hand again and smiled.

"My name's Leon, what's yours?"

"William," he replied, shaking the man's hand - now known as Leon - and meeting Leon's steady blue gaze with his own. "My name's William…"

*** *** ***

"William, eh?" he said casually, as the automatic door slid shut behind them. "So what are you doing here then? You on Umbrella's payroll?"

William's eyes narrowed with distaste and he replied curtly "No. Not anymore."

"Personal vendetta then?" Leon asked, brushing past him and heading for the lockers up ahead, his expression still guarded.

"Something like that," William replied equally guardedly. He did not yet know where this man had come from, who he worked for, or why he was here, and he assumed the red-headed man was thinking along the same lines. He would not fall for the benevolent façade. But the young man's reply, when it came, surprised him.

"Good." Leon said while rummaging around in the lockers. "That means one less scumbag and one more for the cause." He trailed off and turned round, his blue eyes gazing quizzically at William standing at the door. "There's nothing in these lockers. This your handiwork?"

Cautiously, William began to walk over to the lockers. "I'm afraid so. What are you looking for?"

"Food. I've been stuck here two days and only had a snickers to keep me company. As far as I'm concerned, ammo can wait," Leon replied, his expression relaxing a little.

William nodded thoughtfully and then walked over to the fridge, pulling out the two microwave meals he had found earlier.

"Will these do?" he asked, tossing them over to Leon.

"Will they ever!" Leon grinned, catching them and turning them over in his hands. "I don't think much of their taste, though. I mean chilli, that's okay, but lamb hotpot? What sane man would eat microwaveable lamb hotpot?" 

Grimacing theatrically, he walked over to the microwave that sat on a little counter in the corner of the room. William shook his head, bemused, and sat down once again on the faded sofa watching Leon put in the food in the microwave and trying to work it. Leon didn't seem to be having much luck and after much deliberation and suggestion going back and forth between the pair…

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"I'm pressing the buttons but it's not co-operating."

"Is the little digital clock flashing?"

"What?"

"The little digital clock. The timer. Is it flashing?"

"Errr… No. It's not. Seems decent to me. All clothing present and accounted for!"

"Ha ha. Very funny…"

…including making doubly sure the thing was plugged in…

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"Hey, maybe it's not plugged in!"

"That would be a step in the right direction… Is it working now?"

"Wait a minute… Ah…? Dammit!"

"Not working, then?"

"No…"

…Leon threw his hands up in the air exasperatedly, appearing to remember something.

"I've turned the goddamned power off, haven't I? Back in a minute," he said, heading for the door and gently stepping over the corpse of the female researcher. Just as he was about to leave, he added as an afterthought "Don't go anywhere," and then disappeared down the corridor, giving William time to think.

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This Leon is not so bad… And come on, admit it… You're glad for someone to talk to who doesn't want to take everything from you or hasn't come to blow your brains out… It'd be the first time in a long time… He seems competent enough, and the fact that he's not a complete and utter asshole is a bonus… And as if that weren't enough, he wants to destroy Umbrella… I wonder why…

Suddenly, the main lights flickered back on. A minute later, Leon appeared through the door with a smile on his face.

"Food…" he breathed and practically dived for the microwave. Looking at the chilli and then at the hotpot, he shoved the chilli in, punched in the cooking time and two and a half minutes later, was sitting down next to William demolishing the chilli and rice from the plastic container with gusto.

"You not hungry?" Leon asked between mouthfuls.

William shook his head, his sandy hair falling into a pair of red-rimmed, watery blue eyes.

"You sure?" he said, putting down his fork for a moment. "You look like you could do with something… Oh."

Just at the edge of his vision, Leon caught a glimpse of a zombie, a most definitely dead zombie at that, stretched out on the floor. There was a battered looking fire extinguisher next to it and it's head had completely caved in. He winced and pushed his meal away.

"That your handiwork, too?"

William nodded mutely and shifted forward, putting his head in his hands.

"If it helps, there's nothing you could have done to save him," Leon said quietly, looking at the floor. "Something I learned the hard way. It never gets any easier, but look at it this way, you've freed him. He'll have gone to a better place now. It's not your fault…"

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If only you knew…

William tilted his pale face upward, his head still in his hands but not looking at the concerned younger man sitting next to him and said hollowly "Are you finished because I'd quite like to get out of here now. Right now."

Leon nodded understandingly. 

"Sure," he said, standing up. "Just have to switch the power back off so that we can get out the main doors…"

"Then I'll wait outside."

"Fine. You got everything you need? Guns? Ammo?" Leon asked.

"Everything."

"Then let's head up," Leon said, grimly, pulling his handgun out of its holster. "You ready?"

William nodded and the two men headed out of the room that had once been the Researchers' Lodgings and into the corridor. The power was on and the whole corridor shone with a clinical coldness. Leon had went off to the power room and he had waited outside, with a gun in hand, studying the map. The only way out was, indeed, on the ground floor - the main door - which would be electronically locked, no doubt. There would be no power for the elevators, which meant that they would have to take the stairs. Then, the lights cut out and the backup kicked in - the eerie, greenish glow returning, casting long, deep shadows in corners and making everything seem strange and surreal.

"Back!" a voice came from behind, making him jump. "You ready?"

Realising that it was only Leon, he recovered admirably quickly and he nodded, running a hand through his hair and pretended nothing had happened. "The stairs?"

"You got it," Leon said, turning round and walking down to the end of the corridor towards the door, on the other side of which was the stairway leading to all levels.

With a sigh, William followed Leon down the shadowy corridor until they reached the door. But just before they went though, Leon paused and turned to William, grinning.

"I scared you there, didn't I? Come on, admit it."

"You did not." William lied outrageously. "I was just… remaining alert."

"Yeah, yeah," Leon laughed, shaking his head as he opened the door. "That's what they all say."

Shutting the door behind them, Leon stepped through first and William followed, still sporting a faintly wounded expression and almost walking into the back of Leon, who had stopped short. Alarmed, he trailed his gaze over his surroundings and involuntarily, he took a step back, his eyes widened in disbelief, as he beheld the hellish sight before him. 

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Oh my God…

Inside, it was almost as dark as when he had first emerged from his laboratory room and out into the corridor, but he could make out quite clearly what lay immediately ahead. The stairs zigzagged, as far as he could see, all the way up to the ground floor - two short flights of stairs to a floor - and there were bits of bodies strewn over the floor in front of them and scattered haphazardly up the stairs: arms, hands with rings, bracelets and wristwatches, a foot with a blood-soaked sock dangling forlornly and mangled torsos, the ribs cracked open - spilling what was left of their soft, wet, rubbery-red contents onto the linoleum floor. But there were no heads. The stairs were soaked in blood, looking as though someone had chucked a bucket filled with the crimson liquid down the stairs and hadn't bothered to clean it up. Little drops of it were still drip, drip, dripping intermittently from the edge of one step to the next below. There was a hand mark on the wall; a great, long, bloody smear that streaked down from somewhere further up… 

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Where someone had been dragged down…

"You okay?"

The question had caught him off-guard. He turned to look at Leon. His face was white and his blue eyes were wide with fear. But there was something else there, a strength of character and the determination to survive, to get through this nightmare. Only then did he realise he was trembling and he looked away. 

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I can't do this…

Suddenly, he felt a pair of strong hands pull him round and found himself looking straight at Leon's young, dirt-smudged face, strands of red hair falling over his face.

"Look, William, you've got to hold it together," he whispered, urgently "These people," he continued, gesturing vaguely around the stairwell, "they looked… they looked as if they never had a chance. But we've got the element of surprise. Whatever it was that did this, it doesn't know we're here. We can get it - hell, we can get out of here! - if we can hold it together. But you've got to keep a clear head. Believe me, I know it's hard. But you can do it. Now, I don't know who you are, who you work for, or where you came from, but that doesn't matter now. We're in this together and we're going to come out of it together. Okay?" he said, his light eyes burning with resolve.

And there, in the nightmarish confines of a dark stairwell in the Umbrella North Sea Facility - the centre of an unmitigated massacre - William Birkin, for the first time in many years, smiled a genuine, unadulterated smile. Standing in front of him was a complete stranger - they had never met before in their lives - yet he was actually concerned about his welfare; he had been honest with him, about his taking him along even though he had misgivings, about being almost as terrified as he was, yet had shown almost inhuman strength and determination and compassion; and he treated him like another human being. Something stirred in the depths of his memory, cutting through him like a knife. It reminded him of Annette…

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Annette… I remember… I have to get out of here… I have to find you…

"Okay," he said shakily, smiling and running a hand nervously through his hair. "I'm sorry. I-I was just thinking about my wife. Well… if, sorry, I mean _when_ I get out of here, I'm going to have to find her."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Leon said matter-of-factly, before letting him go and walking back over to the door. "Good long-term goal, too. What's her name?"

"Annette," William replied, with a small smile. "She makes my life worth living."

Leon's eyes narrowed slightly, although only slightly.

"Annette, huh? Sorry, but I've had a few bad experiences with Annettes before," he said sheepishly, while walking back over to the large, metal door through which they came. "Come on, I need to get this door down. We can use it as a shield on the way up. Keep an eye on the stairs."

It was a good idea. The stairs were more or less the width the door would be when turned on its side. With a grunt, Leon began kicking at the door, his kicks coming harder and faster, but it was no use. From up above, a shrill shriek echoed down the dark stairwell that made his blood run cold. The shriek was almost immediately followed by another which was longer, and then another…

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Shit… 3K's… And a pack of them, sounds like…

Shit.

For a moment, Leon looked up, and then he began kicking at the door again in earnest.

There was another shriek from above and then the rapid _thump-thump-thump-thump_ of several pairs of clawed feet racing down the stairs. Steadily, William held his gun out in front of him, training it at the top of the short flight of stairs. It was difficult to see because it was so dark.

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We're in their territory… 3K's will track down and kill anything they see to be in their territory… Encoded instinct… Extremely powerful and efficient killers… However, they did have design flaws… Shoot for the throat… But I can't take out three at once… 

The shrill cries of the Hunters were getting closer and Leon's desperate attempts to get the door off its hinges were becoming more and more urgent.

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Thump-thump-thump…

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Come on, Leon…

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Thump-thump-thump-thump…

"Leon, I don't know if you've noticed, but they're getting closer," he yelled sarcastically.

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Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump…

"LEON HURRY UP!"

"I CAN'T! I-IT WON'T MOVE…"

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Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump…

"LEON, GET THE FUCKING DOOR DOWN," he screamed, turning round and throwing his arms wildly in the air.

Suddenly, the door exploded inward, ripped off its hinges and slammed against the wall opposite with a clattering bang, sending Leon diving to the floor, sliding along the wet floor and coming to a halt next to William, who wasted no time in picking him up by the collar of his leather jacket and standing him on his feet.

"_Why couldn't you have done that before?_" he yelled, picking the door up from the floor and holding it out in front of them, indeed very much like a shield. "You shoot and I'll push."

Leon nodded grimly. "Let's go then. Ready? Three… Two… One… GO!" 

As one, William and Leon moved forward, sprinting up the stairs, the light decreasing with every step until it was almost pitch black and all they could hear was the hammering of each others' hearts and the harsh calls of the Hunters. They reached the first short flight, turned the corner, then the second and the third and were almost up the fourth when the Hunters attacked, two trying to claw through the makeshift shield at once, battering relentlessly into it and screaming full-throatedly at the thought of another successful kill. But they couldn't quite reach over it or under it, and didn't have enough room to jump. 

"SHOOT THEM!" William yelled breathlessly, absorbing the impact of another swipe with his shoulder.

"I CAN'T SEE!"

"WHO CARES? JUST LEAN OVER AND SHOOT FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

There was a loud shot fired into the darkness and a shriek of pain followed by another two shots and another final shriek of pain. 

"I GOT ONE!"

"_WELL GET ANOTHER ONE!_" William screamed frantically, as he pushed the door up the last step and round the corner just as another Hunter stepped in to take its dead comrade's place, shrieking for blood and pounding at the old door.

There were more shots, and another Hunter fell to the ground under their feet, almost making William stumble. The remaining Hunter pulled back, loping up into the shadows. Together, they both started pushing upward, making it up the fourth and the fifth flight of stairs. At the top of the sixth, Leon ducked down to reload.

"Where are we?" Leon asked breathlessly.

"Second floor, I think," William replied, equally breathlessly. "I can't really see."

"Me neither. Where do you think it went to?" 

"I don't know, but we'd better get going if we don't want to find out," William replied grimly.

"Right."

Starting again, they made their way cautiously up the seventh flight of stairs and then the eighth. There was no sound other than that of their ascent. They paused at the top of the eighth.

"Where is it?" Leon whispered in frustration. "You know, I feel ten times safer when I can see them than when I know they're there and I can't…"

"Shh! It'll hear--" 

There was an almighty crunch as the Hunter got a grip of the old door, wrenching it out of their hands with a bloodcurdling screech. Brushing William aside with a rough arm like an iron bar, it headed straight for Leon, the threat, with the gun. Before Leon got the chance to aim, it swiped the shotgun out of his hands and onto the floor.

"_RUN!_" Leon screamed.

Blind in the darkness, William staggered forward and fumbled for his gun. The Hunter took a swipe at Leon, which he dodged, but it was almost on him…

__

One more step…

"NO!"

Turning around, he sprinted down the stairs, his hand trailing the ground for the shotgun and, his hand resting on the cold metal of the barrel, he picked it up and fired it blindly into the dark. There was a thud as something heavy fell to the floor and rolled gently down the stairs. For a moment, there was no sound - only the dark and the cool, heavy weight of the gun in his arms. Then…

"Nice shot," Leon's voice echoed in his ear. "Right through the throat. In the dark, too. Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"

"I didn't. I just fired," he said, his voice shaking with the aftereffects of adrenaline.

"Lucky for me then. I owe you one, William."

"No you don't. Believe me, it's the least I can do," he replied quietly, ejecting the spent cartridges and climbing the last flight of stairs.

"You saved my life there," Leon said straightforwardly, following William up the stairs. "I owe you one."

"Right. Fine. You owe me one," he snapped. "Can we get out of here?"

For a moment, Leon looked taken aback by his change in tone, but seemed to recover quickly.

"Yeah. The door should be just up here."

When they reached the top of the stairwell, they found the door that led to the main rooms of the ground floor. There was a small pile of severed heads in another corner.

__

So this is where they went to… Very curious…

With a squeal of rusted metal, Leon opened the door and they both stepped through, both sticky and spattered with blood. They were in a huge room, filled with stasis tubes - much larger than the one in Basement Five - and filled with much more hideous looking creatures. Tyrants. Row upon row of them, all being bred for war by Umbrella to be sold to the highest bidder. Ahead, lay what he assumed would be the door leading to the main gate. Beside him, Leon shook his head, his blue eyes glittering with anger.

"They're not going to get away with this," he said, simply, staring straight ahead. "Umbrella. They're not going to get away with this. There are more of us joining all the time, everyone who has ever been hurt by Umbrella. That's why I'm here," he continued, turning to William. "We're working to stop them, though, we need all the help we can get. Claire, that's one of the girls that escaped from Raccoon with me, she's trying to find…"

William's thoughts did a double take and a sense of unfounded dread rose within him. His head started spinning and he blinked, trying to clear his blurring vision.

"W-what do you mean, Raccoon?" he asked softly.

Leon looked at him strangely for a moment, before answering.

"Raccoon City. About five years ago, there was a leak," he said hollowly. "Turned out there was a huge Umbrella laboratory underneath the city where they conducted their research. The city was overrun and eventually it was nuked. No-one but me and a few other people survived…"

__

No…

"Claire, the girl I was talking about, she was one of them and Sherry, she was the other one that got out with me. She was just a little girl at the time, only just turned twelve. Her parents both worked for Umbrella at the underground lab, slaving away, creating monsters while she went off to school in the morning. They both died. There was a train, a train underground. We got out before the lab exploded."

__

Annette… 

"W-we managed to escape, but Sherry's gone missing they've taken her…"

"No," William said, interrupting Leon bitterly, and turning to face him, his pale blue eyes shinning with tears. "You're wrong."

"What do you mean?" Leon asked cautiously, taking a step backward. 

"Annette. She's dead, isn't she?" he said, his voice breaking.

__

"What?" 

"They didn't both die," he said, almost inaudibly, sinking to his knees on the cold floor. "Sherry… Sherry's my daughter.

*** *** ***

AN: Phew! Another chapter done, and quite a long one at that. That should keep you all satisfied for a while, as I can't afford to procrastinate much longer. I've only got a week left to do my two papers *cringes*. Yes, I know, I've left it a bit late! There's nothing quite like stating the obvious, is there? In order of the review board, muchos-thanks go out to RamenKitty, CassSpaz, Hello Captain, Yami Bite Yumi Me Chan, Tsunami-Aoi and GrAbAsNiCkErS, for much needed first-chapter support.

Hope you liked this one, and if you're really wanting more, or if you're just suffering from a bout of chronic boredom, then you can have a look at my Birkin one-shot: "Another Day at the Grindstone" which isn't too bad.

Thanks for reading!

- Ada K.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three:

"W-we managed to escape, but Sherry's gone missing they've taken her…"

"No," William said, interrupting Leon bitterly, and turning to face him, his pale blue eyes shinning with tears. "You're wrong."

"What do you mean?" Leon asked cautiously, taking a step backward.

"Annette. She's dead, isn't she?" he said, his voice breaking.

"What?"

"They didn't both die," he said, almost inaudibly, sinking to his knees on the cold floor. "Sherry… Sherry's my daughter.

'Sherry's my daughter… Sherry's my daughter… My daughter…'

* * *

The words echoed mockingly in Leon's mind. Round and round and round again, clamouring and strident, like devils dancing in the pits of hell. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He couldn't do anything but stare ahead at the sickly pale, fair-haired man in front of him. At William Birkin. The man responsible for the creation of the G-Virus. The man who was single-handedly accountable for the pain, the misery, the suffering, _the deaths _of hundreds of thousands of people. The man who had abandoned his only daughter in order to hasten these events, creating monsters designed for destruction; designed for killing; designed for ending innocent lives. The man who thought that nothing was more important than his work, and, when Umbrella had sold him out in the end, became the beast that he had strived so hard to perfect, destroying everything that he had once held so dearly, the fail-safe system rigged by Umbrella taking him in the end.

Except he wasn't dead.

Doctor William Birkin was right before him, on his knees, staring numbly at the cold, linoleum floor.

He shouldn't be here… It's not right…

A great surge of fury washed over him, bubbling up from within, filling every fibre of his being and so intense he could practically taste it, hot and acrid like bile. He felt his fists bunching, clenching them so tightly his knuckles whitened and his fingernails dug uncomfortably into his palms, and his eyes focusing wholly and entirely upon the centre of his slowly reddening field of vision. His head felt heavy and hot, as if someone had lined the inside of his skull with boiling, scarlet wool - and the pressure was building. Something was about to break…

Suddenly, William Birkin raised his head, his icy blue gaze fixed intently upon Leon and a light sheen of sweat gracing his forehead. At that moment, there was nothing in those eyes. Nothing. Just a hollow, empty void where there should have been a soul. He spoke. He said something, but Leon didn't really hear it. He didn't need to hear it. It didn't matter.

Something was about to break…

… and then, it broke.

With all the speed and wrath of an avenging angel, Leon felt himself grabbing Birkin by the collar of his shirt and forcing him against a wall. Drawing back a fist, he felt it connect with a satisfying crunch, so he did it again. And again. And again. When the other man fell, he dragged him to his feet - screaming at him to get up - and did it again. After a while, when Birkin stopped getting up, he slammed his shining, steel toe-capped boots into the other man's ribcage, making him cry out and curl up instinctively.

Fucking bastard…

"Get up!" Leon snarled breathlessly, his face flushed with anger and exertion.

William Birkin rolled over gingerly onto his front and struggled to his knees. Crawling slowly over to the barrier that separated the observer from the capsules, he collapsed into a half-upright sitting position, with one leg stretched out in front of him and an arm dangling limply by his side. A thick, clotted streamer of blood trickled from his burst lip as well as a dark gash just above his eyebrow and several other cuts. Already blossoming upon his left eye, was a fresh, livid-looking bruise. A trembling hand clutched at his ribs and his breaths were coming shallow, rapid and ragged.

"I said GET UP!" Leon bellowed, his hair flying wildly over his face as he strode toward the prostrate umbrella researcher, once again forcing Birkin to his feet.

I'm going to make him pay… I'm going make him go to hell and back before I'm finished with him…

Birkin's head lolled unpleasantly and Leon pinned him against the barrier with a strong, unyielding forearm, choking all sound out of him, the strange, red, glutinous light from the stasis tubes reflecting the fire in the younger man's eyes. Birkin coughed painfully and stumbled, but Leon only increased the pressure.

"Look at me… _I said look at me!" _Leon hissed, freeing one hand to slap Birkin so hard across the face that it made his head snap viciously to the left before dropping heavily onto his chest. Its sound resounded throughout the huge, empty room.

For a heartbeat, neither of them made any sound or movement while the echoes faded and died, until all was silent bar their sharp, warm breaths and the beating of their hearts.

"Yeah… I didn't think so," Leon said scathingly, his nose practically touching the sandy-haired man's face.

Then, without warning and with some effort, William Birkin raised his head and, meeting Leon's steely gaze insolently, smirked and spat in the other man's face.

There was a short disbelieving pause - then Leon felt himself slamming into the scientist, falling through the barrier with a clatter before hitting the floor and pounding at him in earnest, grabbing a handful of fair hair in his hands and slamming Birkin's head into the glass of a stasis tube, which cracked ominously.

Shit…

The crack had already started to leak. Pale sticky water began to trickle out and puddle at his feet. Birkin had dazedly slumped to the foot of the stasis tube.

Oh shit… Leon you idiot…

Leon took a cautious step backward and with a gritty crunch, the crack split all the way up the tube to become a great, gaping hole. The strange viscous water gushed over Birkin and the great, grey, rubbery mass of a T-001 slithered out of its incubator and came to a halt directly at Leon's feet.

It wasn't moving.

Then, a hoarse voice sounded from the floor: "They're not alive… not ready yet… hearts… haven't been grown."

"What would you know?" Leon retorted viciously, regretting it the moment the comment passed his lips.

The other man laughed a cold, low, mirthless laugh that made the hairs on the back of Leon's neck stand on end. Birkin was sitting there at the bottom of a broken stasis tube, wet, covered in blood, bruised, broken and laughing at him with a chilling insolence, as if daring him to go further, to carry his fury to the utmost.

"More than you'll ever know," Birkin replied icily, pulling out a gun from the pocket in his jeans.

He had a gun? _Then why didn't he…? He could've…_

"What are you doing?" Leon asked warily, as he couldn't explain Birkin's eerie behaviour. He'd never realised it before because he had been utterly consumed by his rage, but Birkin had never fought back. Not once. It was as if he was goading him on…

"Here," Birkin said harshly, sliding the gun across the floor towards the younger man. "Take it. Do it."

"What?"

That laughter again.

"Do it. You know you want to," Birkin yelled maliciously. "A fitting end, Leon."

A fitting end… Yes…

Uncertain, Leon raised the gun and aimed. Birkin grinned, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back onto the jagged remains of stasis tube.

A fitting end…

Thumbing the safety off, Leon hooked his finger over the trigger. He looked up. Birkin was no longer grinning. He was now glaring at him as if Leon was deliberately keeping him waiting, bracing himself for the inevitable.

A fitting end…?

"You owe me one, Leon, remember?" Birkin said coldly.

"Yes."

"Then do it."

Leon aimed the gun at Birkin's heart and the man in question swallowed and turned pale.

He wants to die… He can't face it, can he?

Suddenly, it all fell into place. Leon lowered the gun.

"DO IT!" Birkin shrieked maniacally, clearly becoming unhinged.

"I can't do this," he said simply, voicing his thoughts. "You want this, and I can't give it to you. I don't think I would, either, even if I had the choice."

"What?"

"You want it all to end, don't you?" Leon said brusquely. "You want all the pain and guilt and suffering to end. You can't stay another damn minute in this world because you can't deal with what you've done. Well do you know what?" he continued, heatedly, "I promised myself that you were going to go to hell and back before I was done with you, and I think that keeping you alive so that you're going to have to face _exactly_ what you've done is doing just that."

For a moment, William stared impassively at the young man before him and after a while, appeared to come to a decision. Wincing, he forced himself to his feet, slipping on the gelatinous water, limping across the room until he reached Leon.

"I hate you," Birkin said without emotion.

Taken aback, Leon narrowed his eyes and replied rather lamely, "Likewise, Birkin."

William stared, incensed, at the red-haired young man and then his shoulders slumped.

"Fine," Birkin replied venomously through gritted teeth, "Meanwhile, I have a better idea. I am _going_ to come with you and I am _going_ to find my daughter, and when I have, I shall not rest until Umbrella has been razed to the ground…" Birkin lowered his voice menacingly and let his gaze fall upon the front doors "…and God help anyone who stands in my way."

"Fine with me," Leon said curtly after a pause.

"Fine," Birkin spat, folding his arms and then, upon realising it was too painful, unfolded them.

"Want to get going, or are you going to come over all sorry for yourself again?" Leon remarked nonchalantly, as he headed over to the front doors.

"Shut up," William snarled before he started after Leon, clutching at his chest.

The doors wouldn't budge at first, no matter how hard Leon tried and after his fifth attempt, William stepped in rather ungraciously.

"Oh for fuck's sake, here…" he said exasperatedly, turning the dial-like handle and pushing.

At once, the doors slid open. Leon frowned and said, "How the hell did you do that?"

William smirked and shuffled out into the open air. When the storm hit him, he almost fell over. The wind was howling ferociously at gale force and the rain was driving down in sheets thick as lead from an ominous, shadowy sky. Leon followed behind and said something that William couldn't hear.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" he yelled over the contending elements, soaked to the skin for the third time in less than twenty-four hours.

"I SAID WE CAN'T TAKE OFF IN THIS WEATHER!!!" Leon screamed, tendrils of hair writhing like snakes a basket.

"REALLY? I WASN'T UNDER THE ILLUSION THAT WE WERE EVER GOING TO TAKE OFF. YOU CAN FLY A HELICOPTER, THEN?" William yelled sarcastically.

"WHERE IS IT?" Leon growled, glaring at William.

"IT SHOULD BE JUST AHEAD!!!"

"BEEN HERE THEN, BIRKIN?"

"SHUT UP --!"

"KENNEDY! AND THAT'S MR LEON S. TO YOU!!!"

"THEN SHUT UP AND MOVE, KENNEDY!!!"

Sure enough the helicopter was just ahead. Both men clambered in and, with a great degree of difficulty, Leon slammed the door shut with a muffled bang.

"Well thank fuck for that," William breathed as acerbically as possible. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally and on the verge of collapse, but he didn't want Kennedy to know that. "So, where are we going?"

"Paris," Leon replied curtly.

"Ah…" William said weakly. He was beginning to feel a little tired and was finding it hard to keep his eyes open much longer.

Leon said something but he didn't quite catch it, and his last thoughts before succumbing to the dark peace of sleep was that he would wake in the morning and be ready, for tomorrow would be the beginning of the end.

* * *

AN: Another chapter. I did promise you, and I, for a change, actually delivered [grins.] As you may have noticed by now, I am something of an irregular updater.

Anyway, I hope this chapter met with your approval. William is, after all, a rather tempestuous individual and I also figured that Leon is, although a forgiving soul, not all _that_ forgiving. So they both absolutely hate each other's guts, and that's the way it should be, I'm afraid. Muchos thanks go to (in order of the review board): Saikoro, Shakahnna, Hello Captain, RamenKitty, CassSpaz, sherry15 and GrAbAsNiCkErS.

If you liked this, then I suggest you go to 'Search' right now, click on 'Author,' type in 'Hello Captain,' press the return key, click on the link and be astounded at what Resident-Evil-Birkin-y goodness she has to offer.

Danke!

- Ada Kensington.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four:

* * *

AN: I had so much fun writing this chapter. Thanks to Hello Captain and CassSpaz for the lovely reviews on the last chapter. 

There was something else, too... Oh yes. I apologise for the French in advance. I thought I'd try and make it as realistic as is possible, seeing as I'm writing a fanfic for the videogame with the most implausible plot and adding to the implausibility factor with an equally implausible plotline of my own. If you spot anything wrong with the French, just mention in it the review box or drop me and e-mail and I'll fix it. Translation included at the end for all those not familiar with the language.

Now, on with the story!

* * *

_  
"So, where are we going?"_

_"Paris," Leon replied._

_"Ah…" William said weakly. He was beginning to feel a little tired and was finding it hard to keep his eyes open much longer._

_Leon said something but he didn't quite catch it, and his last thoughts before succumbing to the dark peace of sleep was that he would wake in the morning and be ready, for tomorrow would be the beginning of the end.  
_

_

* * *

_  
At around eight o'clock in the morning, Leon Kennedy and William Birkin had booked into the Hotel Castex, William having handled the booking of the rooms after Leon proved himself to be the stereotypical 'Amairicain Peeg,' unable to utter a word of the language. Once the formalities were out of the way, William had politely informed Leon that he would be infinitely more useful as a porter, on account of not having two brain cells to rub together and that he should be the one to shift the luggage up the three flights of stairs, since all of it was his anyway. Leon had replied that he would not play the porter and informed William, in no uncertain terms, that he was a dickhead. After that, not much conversation passed between the two men and they dragged the luggage up to their two very-much-separate rooms; and without another word, they swept into their rooms and slammed the doors shut behind them. 

Trudging into the tiny room, William flopped down on the bed, forcing the heels of his hands into the dark hollows of his eyes. The room's decidedly disgusting floral décor would drive even M. C. Escher round the twist. He lay there for a while, not thinking about anything in particular, which was a welcome respite after the confusing events of the past three days, and then suddenly, he swung his legs over the edge of the spongy bed and started towards the door.

_Fuck this. I'm getting out of here…_

William pulled at the handle and wrenched the door open, only to find Leon sitting there, straight across from him on the floor, cross-legged and with a quiet triumph playing about his blue eyes.

"Going somewhere?" Leon said nonchalantly, raising one eyebrow.

Immediately, Birkin slammed the door shut and stalked back into his room. Little flakes of plaster floated down from the ceiling as he headed over to the back of the room, where there were two glass doors leading to a fire escape. To his ire, they were locked, and he vaulted, frustrated, onto the bed once again. His head felt hot with anger and he sat up, unable to keep still, shifting his head forward into his hands.

"Stupid shit," he hissed to himself, whilst unable to get away from the fact that Leon, effectively, had him trapped.

_That is, however, while he is sitting out there…_

William smiled a cold smile that did not reach his watery blue eyes.

"You can't stay out there forever," he said quietly, absently tracing the mind-bending floral pattern on the bed sheets with a thin finger. "I can wait."

However, there was not much to do in the room. He fell asleep for a couple of hours on the musty bed and when he woke up, he felt bored. Upon raiding the drawers of the battered bedside cabinet, he found an equally battered Bible, but he knew he would never bethat bored, so he tossed it back in with a sigh. Directly in front of him was the missing link of televisions.

"I think it's time for a little French TV…" William said to himself, as his eyes scanned the room for the sign of a remote. "Where are you…? Aha!"

The remote was lying next to the television set. It seemed to have accumulated a fine layer of dust. Unfortunately for William, this meant that he would have to get up. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he stretched out his hand lethargically, squinted at the remote and said matter-of-factly, "look, you'll save me a lot of effort if you just come here."

He didn't know how he did it. All he knew was that suddenly, he felt the impact of the remote slapping into his palm and his fingers clenching over it instinctively. His eyes were still fixed upon the point where it had been - a clean square, free of dust upon the dressing table - and his hand was still outstretched, with the remote, to his alarm, now in its grip.

Slowly, his face unfroze, and he looked down, horrified, at the object in his hand.

_Fluke, it was just a fluke… Let's see you do it again…_

Scanning the room for something to prove that it was a mere coincidence, he found a dirty teacup on a tray next to an old packet of biscuits. Taking a shuddering breath, he focused on the cup, stretched out his hand and concentrated. Instantly, the cup flew into his hand. For a moment, William sat perfectly still, a strand of blonde hair falling into his eyes, lost in thought. The china teacup slid out of his pale hands and smashed upon the wooden floorboards. Suddenly, William's thin lips curled into a wicked grin.

_Maybe it wasn't a fluke after all…_

For the next couple of hours, William spent the time testing his newfound ability, and eventually, he found that he could not only summon objects at will, but that he could also, with the correct application, throw them around the room. He had unearthed a pen and a shabby pad from another drawer and enthusiastically recorded each of his successes and failures:

_Television remote: successful summon and disposal._

_China teacup: successful summon and disposal (dropped the cup)._

_Biscuits: successful summon and disposal._

_Coffee jar: successful summon. Tried to unscrew lid whilst jar was in the air, resulted in instant coffee and broken glass all over the floor…_

At the end, there was a pile on the floor at the end of the bed of all of the moveable objects in the room. This ability must have been a strange side-effect generated by prolonged exposure to the untested G-Virus. Either that, or Umbrella had been experimenting on him in his prolonged sojourn in the stasis tube. William found it was becoming increasingly easier to manipulate matter at his will, and after he had moved the television, he felt that he was ready to graduate to bigger and better things. When he had first come into the room, he had stored away one of Leon's cases under the bed, and he had a rather shrewd idea as to what it contained. Smiling slightly, he closed his eyes and directed the case onto the bed, unlocking it and releasing both catches.

_No sense in going out unprepared, is there?_

In the case, there was a sizeable wad of cash, medical supplies, several manilla folders and, most importantly, ammunition. And lots of it. Pocketing the money, William rummaged in the case until he came across a strangely familiar looking gun…

_That's mine…_

There it was. Lying in Leon Kennedy's personal arsenal of ammunition - cold, sleek, powerful and deadly. His magnum. He'd last set eyes upon it in his laboratory locker deep beneath Raccoon City. He'd hidden it away before… His icy blue eyes flashed suddenly and he snatched it up, strangely consoled by the weight of the weapon he held in his hands, and took all the rounds for the gun he could find.

_It would be a fitting end, indeed, if it could be achieved with this…_

William laughed suddenly, although there was nothing remotely funny about that particular thought. Then, he stuck out a pale hand and, summoning his tan-coloured trench coat, he shrugged it on and walked toward the doors at the back of the room.

"Goodbye, Leon," he said quietly. "Thanks for the ride, but I'll be going it alone from here."

With that, William Birkin unlocked the doors and, climbing down the fire escape ladder, he emerged out onto the streets of Paris.

* * *

"Monsieur?" the man behind the counter enquired frantically. The little bakery was rather busy and it was filled with lunchtime customers. 

"Euh… Un café blanc et un croque-monsieur, s'il-vous-plaît," William replied in slightly hesitant French.

"Á emporter?" the man inquired hopefully.

"Euh… Oui. Oui, merci," William answered, after looking around at the noisy, crowded seating area.

"Cinq Euros, Monsieur," the man said breathlessly, after rushing off to pour him his coffee and bring him his lunch.

William paid and left the little bakery, deciding to go for a wander. He ended up sitting on a low wall in the Place de Notre Dame in the shadow of the grand cathedral itself, breaking bits off his croque-monsieur and feeding them to the gaggle of pigeons that had begun to crowd round him. The place was absolutely jam-packed with tourists, all milling around in a curious Brownian motion towards the main attraction. He was not in the least perturbed by the severe, stone faces of the best part of the heavenly host and all of history's saints staring down at him from above. He'd never subscribed to all of that idealistic, theological rubbish. To him, the Bible was nothing more than a rather boring collection of didactic short stories; their origins as tales told by the fire and spread through word of mouth from generation to generation were lost in the mists of time as cynical kings harnessed their sacrality to establish some sort of order in a lawless society. The additions of monks and politicians and ignorant nobles (all one and the same) would have come later…

"Stand over there, my dear! No, to the right a bit… Yes, that's it!"

If he had believed that there was a God, with a capital 'G', he wasn't totally certain that he would have deterred from his previous line of work. Whilst William had worked at Umbrella, he had been astounded to find that some of the researchers working under him had 'kept the faith,' so to speak,. These people were so supremely arrogant as to believe that their God would save them in the end and that what they were doing didn't matter because if they prayed, all their 'sins' would be absolved. It had made him furious and he remembered asking one of them exactly what happened to good people who didn't believe in God out of sheer spite, as he knew fine well that they wouldn't be able to give him a satisfactory answer…

"I'm just going to take another one… Smile now, Maria! There's a good girl!"

On the other hand, if there was an afterlife, then he was going straight to hell. He was damned and he knew it. So why worry about it…?

"Three, two, one… SMILE!"

_God, why won't that idiot shut the hell up?_

Irritated, he looked up and froze right in the middle of the act of feeding another one of Paris' feral pigeons.

There, before him, was Sidney Parker-Jones; the fat, pompous, overbearing and ruthless Senior Member of the Executive Board of Umbrella Incorporated. Prancing around ridiculously in a pair of shorts that were at least two sizes too small for him, he was snapping photos of his latest wife, a young Hispanic girl whom he did not recognise. There was no doubt in William's mind that Sidney Parker-Jones would have had a hand in the botched attempt to assassinate him and it was probable that he also knew about his regeneration. His fists clenched around what was left of his lunch and an impatient pigeon had a peck at it. William cast a quick glance at the offending bird and tossed the last corner of his croque-monsieur absently to the pigeon, who accepted it eagerly. There were more pressing matters to be dealt with.

Sidney and his mail-order bride had joined the queue to take the tour of the cathedral. William stood up, wiping the crumbs from his jacket and headed straight to the front of the queue where the ticket attendant stood in his booth, a plan already formed in his mind. He was going to have to be quick. It wouldn't be long before Parker-Jones bought his way to the front of the queue.

"Excusez-moi, Monsieur? Monsieur?" William said breathlessly.

The ticket attendant turned from the elderly German couple he was serving and regarded William coldly. "Oui?"

"Je - Je suis désolé, mais je pense que j'ai perdu mon fils," William lied.

"Ou en était-le?" the attendant enquired, supremely unaffected by William's plight.

"Je ne sais pas," William replied with a slight edge in his tone, amazed at the stupidity of the young man before him. "Je l'ai perdu, mais je pense qu-il lá dedans," he continued, pointing inside the cathedral, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

Pride deflated somewhat, the young man nodded and waved him in. William walked through the doors and into the hushed, lofty, reverence of the main cathedral. It must have been Sunday, as Mass was being sung, the lilting cadences and beautifully elaborate contrapuntal phrases rising gloriously toward the heavens. The air was heavy with smoke and incense and the echoes of every step he took seemed to carry to the rafters. Candles, lit by visiting pilgrims and ordinary tourists, sat on every available inch of space, their madly flickering light casting the already dark shadows into eerie relief. To his right, was an antechamber that had been roped off. Perfect. Looking around to make sure no-one could see him, he ducked into the room and waited.

* * *

Paris was no stranger to Sidney Parker-Jones and unfortunately for Paris, Sidney Parker-Jones was no stranger to it. He had made the cross channel journey back and forth from London to Paris many a time, though the last time he had seen Notre Dame was about ten years ago with his third wife, Mei Lin. It was a beautiful, warm summer's day and he had decided to take Maria out to expose her to a little culture, so, draining the last of his champagne, he summoned his chauffeur to drive them to the cathedral. Having taken a few pictures of Maria in her lovely little white sundress, he flashed a fifty Euro note at the attendant, who slipped it in his shirt pocket and nodded them in.

Once inside, he nodded appreciatively at his surroundings. Established, respected, technologically flawless, forming an integral part of the lives of millions of people, feared and awed in equal measure - this place resonated with pure, unadulterated power. It reminded him of the company. A sense of pride stirred within him. He turned round to voice his thoughts to Maria, but she had wandered off to light a candle. To his right was a little vestibule leading off from the main hall. It hadn't been cordoned off like all the others, but no-one else seemed to be keen to explore it. No matter. He would have a look.

Suddenly felt a cold hand wrap around his mouth, wrenching his head backward and dragging him deeper into the shadows. He struggled and attempted to scream for help, but his captor only pressed their hand more tightly over his mouth. Eventually, they stopped and Sidney felt something cold and undoubtedly metallic pushed gently into his temple. He began to tremble. "Look, whoever you are, I can get you anything you want, I can…"

"Shut up, Sidney," a terrifyingly familiar voice hissed in his ear. "I don't want your money."

_No… Impossible… It can't be…_

"B-Birkin?" he croaked, now shaking violently in the darkness of the antechamber.

"Yes, how very nice of you to remember me, my dear Sidney. So you don't know, do you? Memo must have slipped through your inbox while you were ordering in yet another wife over the internet. " William replied conversationally. "Although I must confess that I didn't much appreciate what you did to me," he continued a shade more darkly. "In fact, I distinctly recall that I was to have at least two weeks' notice."

Behind Sidney, there was an ominous click as William removed the safety.

"Goodbye, Sidney," William said quietly, as his finger hooked around the trigger and pulled.

However, the shot went wide as William felt a fat elbow slamming into his ribs. Instinctively, he doubled up for a split second, releasing the senior member of White Umbrella from his grasp, but that split second was all Sidney needed to make his escape. The choir had faltered into silence and William could hear screams issuing forth from the main hall. He didn't care. All he wanted to do was find Sidney…

_And this time, I'm going to make the shot count…_

Sprinting down the corridor, his coattails flying out behind him, he saw Sidney rounding the corner and turning into the main hall. Picking up the pace, he emerged from the vestibule only a few paces behind the other man, skidding to a halt, his pale eyes scanning over his surroundings. In the silence, you really could have heard a pin drop. The choir had scattered, leaving their audience to drop to the floor and cower in between the pews. Slowly, deliberately, he strolled casually down the central aisle toward the magnificent altar, his progress followed by hundreds of terrified eyes.

_I wonder if I can lift people…_

Focusing his mind on what he knew was whimpering like a beaten animal behind the altar, he slowly raised his hand, and as he did so, Sidney rose with it, shaking like a leaf, his flabby face drained of colour. For a moment, William held him there in, pinning him to nothing with one thin hand. As if spellbound, the occupants of the pews looked on in horror. He was absolutely helpless. In one fluid motion, William lifted the gun and pointed it straight at the heart of his former employer. Sidney cried out. There was a clatter from the pews as someone stood up behind him. Lazily, William raised an eyebrow and turned round to see an old priest pointing at him and screaming, his knees practically knocking together with terror.

"Vous ne pouvez pas faire couler le sang dans un maison de Dieu!"

William's face split into a cold smile and he turned back to Sidney, who was staring down at him, his sunken eyes pleading with him to be merciful…

"Je ne crois pas en Dieu," William announced before pulling the trigger.

The impact of the bullet obliterated the other man's heart, and blood and bits of flesh sprayed forth rather spectacularly from the gaping wound, spattering upon the ancient stone floor. Behind him, there was a cacophony of yelling and screaming. Everyone seemed to be tripping over themselves in an effort to get away from him - the crazy madman with the gun. Frighteningly composed, William walked out behind them, swinging one foot out in front of the other after the fashion of a bored police officer out on his rounds. He began to hum a few bars from Brahms' fifth Hungarian dance, as it felt rather appropriate.

Obviously, word had spread, as the whole square had emptied by the time he walked through the doors of the cathedral. The lone, audacious pigeon was still pecking at the scrap of bread he had tossed it earlier on.

"I wasn't that out of tune, was I?" he asked the pigeon with a grin.

In the distance, William could hear the wailing sirens of police cars approaching at speed.

"Hmm… I think I shall take my leave now," he mused, before turning back once more to face the angels and saints, giving them a swift salute and yelling "Au revoir, Notre Dame," and racing down the street into the nearest Metro station.

There was a little rolled up piece of paper that Leon had given him back in the helicopter with the address of the place they were supposed to be paying a little visit to. Originally, William had intended to get as far away from Leon as possible but now that he'd gotten the ball rolling, he had no intention of backing out now, even if he happened to cross paths with the younger man again. Technically, they were on the same side. William smoothed out the paper and read: 33 Rue St. Augustin. He looked at the Metro map on the wall. There was a St. Augustin stop. Coincidence? Well, if he was wrong, he could just get off and ask someone.

"St. Augustin, s'il-vous-plaît," he said to the ticket vendor.

"Trois Euros, Monsieur," the girl replied, handing him his ticket.

Quickly, he paid for his ticket and without another word, swept off down the escalator. There was a train already sitting on the tracks and he just managed to slip through the doors as they closed. The journey was remarkably uneventful and lasted about five minutes. When he left St. Augustin station, he didn't have to walk very far to find Rue St. Augustin. Crossing the road, he continued on down the long street, filled with government and corporate buildings, dodging suits and ties and briefcases, until he reached number thirty-three and stopped, puzzled.

_This can't be right…_

The brass plaque on one side of the double glass doors read not Umbrella Incorporated, but HCF International…

* * *

AN: I'd just like to say thanks again to the Captain and CassSpaz for the reviews for chapter three and take the opportunity to tell you that you really should download Brahms' Hungarian Dance no. 5, as it really is a wonderful classical piece and to go and check out Hello Captain's Birkin-fics. They rock muchly, and I like reading them.

Now follows the translation:

Ordering food: "Sir?" "A white coffee and a croque-monsieur, please." "To go?" "Err... yes. Yes, thank you." "Five Euros, sir."

Conning the ticket attendant: "Excuse me, sir! Sir?" "Yes?" "I- I think I've lost my son." "Where is he?" I don't know. I've lost him, but I think he might be in there."

Old Priest: "You cannot shed blood in a house of God!" Birkin's Retort: I don't believe in God.

Metro Station: "St. Augustin, please" "Three Euros, Monsieur."

That's about all I think. Oh, and I'd appreciate it muchly if you leave a review. Thanks,

- Ada K.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

* * *

AN: Subliminal messaging: Read Hello Captain and RamenKitty. That is all.

* * *

Maude Gangloff perused her copy of the afternoon edition of _Le Monde, _her dark eyes like gimlets never straying from the pages. Once or twice, she took a sip from the cup of coffee that her secretary had silently brought to her office: a vast space on the top floor of HCF headquarters offering an unobstructed view down the bustling rue St. Augustin; a space, as current fashion dictated, luxurious in its austerity - all pine, chrome and frosted glass. The office suited its occupant, the short, prim, middle-aged French woman, her iron-grey hair pinned up in a severe bun, wearing a crisp, grey suit-jacket and skirt and a pair of low heels. As she read, she frowned and adjusted the pair of horn-rimmed spectacles perched upon the bridge of her sharp nose. When she had finished reading, she pushed back her chair and walked over to the window, leaning her hands upon the sill.

There was no doubt in her mind that there was a connection - no doubt whatsoever. Sidney Parker-Jones's death was no accident. From what the article had said he appeared to have been gunned down in cold blood in the actual cathedral itself, the attacker vanishing after the incident, the motive for the murder as yet unknown. They had issued a description: a white man of slim build in his early thirties, around five foot eight, five foot nine with sandy coloured hair and blue eyes, wearing blue jeans and a tan-coloured trench coat. The Umbrella executive's killer clearly was not concerned with keeping his identity a secret - even from the French authorities - and, from what she could gather, he had been acting alone. _That_ was the puzzle. _That_ was the anomaly. Turning round, she began to pace back and forward, her lips a thin line of concentration. Certainly there were people who wanted revenge on Umbrella - quite a number of them ending up at HCF - but there were others who wanted to put a stop to all research such as was conducted by both corporations. She paused, reaching down for her coffee cup and took another sip. Perhaps he was of the latter? It was most likely. Though such individuals usually ended up in some sort of underground resistance movement, renegade operatives were not unheard of…

A hesitant knock on her door briefly derailed her train of thought and her secretary entered soundlessly, her auburn head lowered. She left some files on her desk before curtseying and leaving the room, closing the door softly behind her. Madame Gangloff paid her no heed and flipped open the first on the pile, marked 'URGENT'. She read the file right through and when she came to the end, she smiled a small, mirthless smile. So, he was coming today. Interesting… She wondered what he would think of the latest turn of events - whether he even knew of Parker-Jones's death. He probably would, she surmised, as he was always so very well-informed, so very professional. He was an asset to the company if there ever was one. Stretching out a small, bejewelled hand, she picked up the phone and dialled the number for security. Even though it appeared to be nothing to do with HCF, she was not going to take any chances. If anything, Madame Maude Gangloff was a careful and meticulous planner and she did not get where she was today by letting things slip out of her grasp. The renegade had managed to catch that buffoon Parker-Jones unawares, but if he dared to turn up here, he would not find her such easy-pickings…

* * *

It was almost dusk, and William Birkin had been sitting on a low wall all day watching the suits walk by. Mind-numbingly tedious, he would have called it, but for the fact that it was a necessary evil. Earlier on, he had called in at reception just to get a look around the place, but had gotten no further than reception. As well as the rather surly receptionist, there had also been four armed security guards hanging around and, as he didn't want to bear the burnt of the wrath of four ego-tripping morons on a machismo kick, he had decided to bide his time and had left apologetically, pretending he had gone into the wrong building. After that, he went along the street, bought a ridiculously expensive sandwich and a cup of coffee and waited.

The sun was setting and somewhere off in the distance, a bell tolled seven. Gradually, in dribs and drabs, the workers emerged from their places of employment - chattering away, hailing taxi-cabs, choosing where to go for dinner, that sort of thing. Idle chit-chat of no consequence. William blocked it all out and focused intently upon the building directly across the road: HCF headquarters. He knew that HCF International were one of Umbrella's biggest rivals in the bio weapons market. Though they had never quite managed to match the ingenuity and innovation of their counterpart, they were most definitely as ruthless and merciless as their competitors - and that's all it was, really, a competition… William watched quietly, pretending to be absorbed in a book, while one of the security guards he had seen earlier punched in a code and locked the front doors before leaving, presumably for the night. There was no sign of the other three or, indeed, of any others. He was about to get up when the security guard reappeared with someone in tow - a very, very familiar someone, indeed. The shades were a dead giveaway. The sight startled him and he floundered for a moment before recovering himself.

You're dead, remember? Pull yourself together, for god's sake…

With that reassuring thought in mind, he leaned back and watched the security guard escort his old friend and colleague, Albert Wesker, into the building.

So you've sold yourself to HCF, Albert. How very like you. Selling your services to the highest bidder, thinking yourself worthy only of the custom of the big guns. _How supremely arrogant! You haven't changed a bit…_

. 

William allowed himself a small chuckle at the thought. After all these years, after everything, Albert Wesker was still, and would always be, Albert Wesker. His loyalties solely devoted to himself as well as being a brilliant, cold-blooded and cut-throat killer. Wesker would crush anyone who stood in the way of achieving his goals. Unfortunately for him, though, in that last respect, he and his old colleague were exactly alike…

He looked forward to meeting him.

Casually, he put his book back in his bag and got up, crossing the road to end up before the locked glass doors of HCF headquarters. He had been watching the guard earlier and knew roughly which numbers he had tapped to gain access. After the third time, he smiled as 'ACCESS GRANTED' flashed brightly before him in green. Wonderful. Everything seemed to be running smoothly so far. Automatically, the doors swung inwards and he followed them in, looking around properly for the first time.

It was dark inside, but he could still see pretty clearly and from what he could see, he would have found it very hard to force his way into the place, even if he had wanted to. In front of him was the reception desk complete with all the trimmings, nothing odd about that, but the only way to get further into the building was by calling one of the two elevators at either side of the desk. He walked round and sat down at the desk. The computer was still on and the receptionist was still logged in. Not believing his luck, he decided to have a little look around. He brought up the staff rota and browsed through the names and faces. Most of them were security guards - half of them on duty at the moment - but the most interesting was that of the General Manager. Mme M. W. Gangloff (who, in his mind, looked decidedly like one of his old school mistresses - not someone to be trifled with) was still in the building. It appeared that he could also disable certain parts of the security system: unlocking the front doors without a code, turning off the alarm, the sprinkler system - that sort of thing. Without a moment's hesitation, he turned off the alarm and unlocked the front doors (just in case he needed to make a quick exit). The CCTV, however, was beyond his control. Peering into the dark corners, he searched for a camera… There. In the north-east corner, a little red light winked at him. He concentrated for a moment and it winked no more.

Grinning, pleased with himself, he got up and called one of the elevators and as he waited, he whistled a tuneless little refrain. In all honesty, he didn't know why he was here or why it was important to come here. Leon Kennedy hadn't given him any information other than HCF headquarters' location. Presumably, if he had stayed with him, he would have been enlightened eventually, but there was no way in hell he could have tolerated the company of that cretin for any longer. If there was once thing he was certain of though, it was that coming here was somehow important…

"Welcome to HCF International. Please select your floor…" a female voice sounded as the elevator doors slid open.

He stepped inside and glanced around. There were no buttons. "The top floor, please," he said, slowly and clearly, feeling that he might as well start at the top and work his way down. Not half a second later, the doors closed and he felt himself going up. Feeling inside his coat pockets, he quickly checked to see whether he still had his magnum and the berretta. Upon confirming that, he rocked backwards and forwards upon his heels and whistled for the rest of the ride up before the doors opened, the voice announcing, "Twelfth floor. Please watch your step…"

Despite it coming from a machine, William had never heard better advice. Stretching out before him was a long, straight, dark corridor, filled with conference rooms and offices. There were glass walls everywhere - even the floor was made of reinforced glass so that you could see what was going on below. Everything was tinted blue from the expensive low-level floor lighting. There was absolutely no cover. He was becoming a little nervous and was beginning to doubt whether this was a good idea or not. If any security guard was patrolling this floor, he would be spotted easily…

Then again, if anyone is patrolling, you can spot them and you can take the appropriate action. Shoot them or run. Simple…

For a moment, he battled with the two options - stay or get the hell out. Eventually, the former emerged victorious and William stepped out resolutely into the corridor, the berretta raised, before his courage failed him. Behind him, the lift doors closed and he heard it travelling back down to the ground floor. There was no going back now. Slowly, carefully, he started forward, each step he took making him cringe as its sound reverberated throughout the passage. His pale eyes darted from left to right, alert and searching for any sign of movement, but it appeared that there was no one up here. Odd… Gradually, he lowered the gun and began to concentrate a little more on his surroundings. Conference Room 1201, Conference Room 1202 across from it, Conference Room 1203, Conference Room 1204... All very boring. Very normal. It went on and on until he came to a few offices, and, at the end of the corridor, standing out by the fact that its walls were not made of glass, was the office of Madame Gangloff, the branch manager. The door was ajar and he could see the cold, flickering light of a computer screen. William stopped and frowned, a strand of sandy-coloured hair falling into his eyes.

This was too convenient. Far too convenient. First, the secretary's computer was on enabling to disable certain aspects of the security system, then he had managed to walk through the whole of the top floor, the floor that appeared to house the higher-ups and the information they were privy to, and finally, the general manager's door was left lying open - her computer still oh-so-usefully logged on, no doubt. It was as if they were expecting someone. Either that, or they were incredibly stupid, but somehow he didn't think HCF would afford him that luxury.

This is a set-up… Get out…

Nodding to himself, he spun round on his heel and headed for the elevator, but before he could take three steps, a gunshot rang out somewhere in the distance. Instantly, he froze, pointing the handgun at the elevator doors. Then, there was another shot, and another, followed by a plethora of gunfire. Suddenly, it all fell into place. They weren't expecting anyone at all! Obviously, some other intruders had breached security (although not as successfully as he had). The guards would be dealing with them and the Gangloff woman would have run off, not intending to stick around, leaving her office unlocked. The secretary's computer was just a fluke. William sighed, relieved, and ran a hand through his hair. However, this didn't resolve the question of whether to stay or go. Now, he had a chance to make an easy break for it in the confusion - but now he also had the opportunity to take a look around while he knew the guards were busy. It didn't take him long to make up his mind. Determined, he turned round and headed straight for Mme Gangloff's office, his coattails fluttering out behind him, a wicked smile parting his thin lips. If HCF would not provide him with answers, they would certainly provide him with enough useful information to help him formulate the right questions…

* * *

In the bowels of the building, Maude Gangloff was sitting in front of the security system, watching the screens. The gunman had managed to escape into the ventilation shafts and her security team had spread out to look for him. In the meantime, she would watch and wait. He would have to come out sometime. It was just a matter of being patient. Wherever he emerged, she would see it on screen and she would alert a member of her team and they would eliminate the intruder. There was a screenshot of him on one of the other monitors. He could have fitted the description of Sidney Parker-Jones's killer: around the right height, light eyes and fair-ish coloured hair, could very well be in his early-thirties though he looked a little bit younger than that. The trench coat was gone, however, replaced by a leather jacket with a fur collar, but that could have easily been lost. Yes, she was fairly certain that this was the man. She traced her thin lips with a short finger. It was a shame that she was going to have to have him killed after doing the company such a service earlier by getting rid of Parker-Jones, but needs must after all. She couldn't allow for any complications.

Satisfied that things were going according to plan, she decided to do a brief check on the upper levels. The intruder couldn't have gotten that far, not without her seeing him, and gravity was almost certainly against him, but she wanted to be certain. She switched floors and her face froze. There was someone in her office, sitting at her desk, at her computer - reading files! A young man with fair hair, in his thirties - _and there was the trench coat…_ A searing fury flared up inside her and she stood up abruptly, sending her chair clattering to the floor. Now she realised what was going on. Parker-Jones's death was a ruse, it was nothing to do with Umbrella after all, and the gunman downstairs was being used to blind her to what was really going on. Instantly, she snatched up the case she had brought with her and pulled out a sleek, double-barrelled shotgun without ceremony. Grim-faced, she loaded and headed up.

There could be no complications.

* * *

Sitting on the floor, cross-legged and awash in a sea of paperwork, William was finding it interesting, if no other positive adjectives could be applied. They had background files on almost every Umbrella employee, past and present. Information on himself, on Annette, on Albert, on Alexia Ashford, the Ashford family, on Spencer - even George Trevor, the architect who designed the Spencer Estate. Apparently, he had died in the mansion. That was not the most interesting thing, however. They had information on Sherry. When he had read her file, he felt the heat rising to his face, his knuckles whitening.

_The mission objective has been reached. Sherry Birkin is now safe in the hands of the company. As you requested, she has been delivered to the London branch office. I await the further instruction of the board._

_Albert Wesker._

And that was not all…

_The mission objective has been reached. We have succeeded in obtaining a sample of the G-Virus and have transported it to the Munich facility for analysis. Unfortunately, we could not retrieve any of the finals, nor the research papers, as the former were intercepted by Agent Hunk's retrieval squad and the latter destroyed by the late Dr. William Birkin prior to his assassination. We hope, however, that this meets with your approval._

_Albert Wesker._

So…

His insides clenched with a hot, impotent anger. Albert Wesker, his old colleague, had sold _his_ virus to the competition. He had slaved for years to create the perfect virus and when he had been swept out of the way, Albert had swooped in like a vulture and had benefited from his apparent demise. He had always known that Albert's loyalties had lain with Albert - but this…? He stared at the pieces of paper before him, sitting neatly in their folders and he gathered all of them up and stuffed them roughly into his bag. Suddenly the alert sounded making him jump, and he looked up accusingly at the computer, his pale eyes rimmed with dark. The disk had ejected itself and William pushed himself to his feet and took it, slipping it back into its case and placing it in his bag along with the files he had collected. There had been some other interesting pieces of information stored on the computer - the exact location of every single HCF bio weapons facility on the planet being just one, and the location and blueprints of the London branch headquarters being another…

Suddenly, he felt very weary. Slumping onto the chair in front of the computer, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Who knew revenge could be such hard work…?

"Twelfth floor… Please mind your step…"

As if he'd been electrocuted, William leapt to his feet. He whirled around wildly, his mouth an 'o' of shock, cursing himself for being so careless. Fumbling for his gun, he found it, thumbed the safety off and hid under the desk, unplugging the computer from the mains. The room plunged into darkness and he waited in silence, trying desperately to stop himself from breathing so loudly. He could hear footsteps outside in the corridor. They were approaching at a rapid pace, the assertive _click, click, clicking _of a pair of women's shoes on a glass floor. It appeared that Madame M. W. Gangloff was returning to her office. William shifted slightly and raised the gun, assuming that he would have the element of surprise at least, when the door burst open with an almighty bang. He froze as she paced slowly, deliberately into the room and he was sure that his loudly pounding heart would give him away. His assumption vanished as she spoke, her voice low, harsh and heavily accented.

"I know you're here," she said quietly, loading two more rounds as she paced. "So why don't you just come out and make it easier for the both of us…"

Underneath the desk, William kept the gun aimed straight ahead and his mouth shut. He wasn't feeling up to making anything easier for anyone at the moment and the old bitch was already beginning to irritate him.

"No?" she continued, conversationally. "Oh that _is_ a shame, I would very much have liked to thank you for getting rid of that fat dolt, Parker-Jones. It was all over the papers this afternoon, you know…"

In the dark, William permitted himself a small nod of pride and a grim smile.

Full marks for making the connection, Madame, and yes it was me… but you're not going to be telling anyone any time soon because you_ are going to be joining him…_

you 

"Now, let's have a little light, shall we?" she announced.

The lights flickered on and in that same instant, William looked over his shoulder and realised with horror, that he could see his reflection in the window and also that of Gangloff's as she raised a shotgun to her shoulder and hooked her finger round the trigger.

Fuck! Get out, get out, get out!

William dived out of the way and she fired, the shotgun packing a mighty punch as it blew a huge hole in the desk just where he had been sitting a second before. Scrambling to his feet, he spun-round, wild-eyed to see where she was only to find her standing a few feet away, pointing the gun directly at him, ready to fire again.

Too late to shoot her… Do something!

In his desperation, he ran at her… she hooked her finger around the trigger… he felt himself slamming into her… she pulled the trigger… they both fell heavily to the floor in a shower of paper… the shot went wide, blowing a hole in the ceiling, bits of plaster raining down on them… her guard was down momentarily… he drew back his hand and slapped her as hard as he could across the face… in that same instant, he felt the butt of the gun connect painfully with his face and heard something crack… then, the red mist came down and he was pummelling at her in earnest… but she was fighting back… He had to get out - and fast. Making a split-second decision, he lunged to his feet, grabbed his bag and sprinted out of the room, hoping against hope that the old bitch wouldn't have expected the move, that she was dazed enough to give him time to call the elevator. He was flying down the dark corridor again, his footsteps pounding on the glass floor and he was only halfway there when he heard a hoarse scream of fury coming from the other direction.

Not enough time, not enough time…

"Twelfth floor… Please mind your step…"

She's called the guards… Shit…

Then, just as he thought it was game over, in front of him, the elevator door opened. Wide-eyed and frantic, Leon Kennedy emerged and stopped short when he saw him.

"William?" Leon began before he was tackled into the elevator. Another shot went over their heads, missing them by inches. The next one wouldn't miss…

"Please select your floor," the female voice intoned, absurdly calm given William's current situation.

"GROUND FLOOR! GROUND FLOOR!" he screamed, gesturing wildly - understandably becoming slightly unhinged at the prospect of imminent death.

"YOU WON'T GET AWAY WITH THIS, YOU COCKSUCKING LITTLE SHITS!" she howled, raising the gun for the final time.

Shit, shit, shit! The doors won't close in time, we're dead, we're…

Then, William had a brainwave. In the eerie blue-lit darkness, he looked up just as the doors were closing in time to see Gangloff emerging from the shadows, dishevelled and bloodstained, with a mad glint in her eye and her shotgun raised, ready to blow his brains out. He felt Leon pulling at him, trying to get him to hit the floor, but he resisted, he had to. Forcing himself to his knees, with a predatory grin, he concentrated. Instantly, he felt the shotgun flying into his hands and he spun it around, raised it to his shoulders and fired, hitting. Gangloff barely had time to register the surprise on her face before the impact of the bullet blew a hole in her chest. William didn't see her fall, as the doors closed before she hit the floor but he knew beyond a doubt that she was dead.

Clambering over Leon, he collapsed against the wall of the elevator, white-faced and gasping for breath. Only now could he feel the pain where she had hit him full force in the face with the shot gun. He could already feel his face swelling up and he could taste blood. The bitch must've cracked his cheekbone. Then he realised Leon was looking at him.

"What?" he snapped, the pain multiplied by the fact that he had just survived an attack on his life by a murderous, middle-aged woman with a shotgun making him prone to irritability.

"You never told me you could do that," Leon said accusingly.

"You never asked," William retorted.

There was a pause before Leon replied, grinning, "You look like shit, Birkin."

William looked up and cast a supremely cold glare in Leon's direction. Leon smirked and picked up the shotgun.

"Did you know that you were all over the news this afternoon?" Leon continued, undaunted.

"Yes," he answered curtly. "The mad bitch on the top floor was so kind to inform me of that fact before she tried to blow my fucking head off."

"You have a name and everything - the trench coat killer, just in case you're wondering. Everyone in Paris is looking for you," Leon went on, fixing him with a cool, blue gaze.

"The trench coat killer?" he laughed derisively. "Wonders will never cease…"

"You killed the Umbrella guy, didn't you?" Leon interrupted, looking him straight in the eye, his honest face smeared with blood and dirt.

There was a moment's silence in which William briefly met Leon's gaze before turning away. Eventually he replied, his voice filled with a strange triumph, "Yes… yes, I did."

Leon nodded and fell silent, and nothing else was said until they reached the ground floor and the doors opened.

"We can't get out this way. We need a code…" Leon began before William waved him into silence and opened the doors, a small smile on his face.

"After you," he said, with a gallant flourish.

Slightly bewildered, Leon walked out and William followed, closing the doors behind him. "You can unlock the doors from Reception," William explained as the two men walked along the dark street, leaving HCF International behind them. "I simply neglected to lock them again, in case I needed to make a swift exit."

Leon made a sound that indicated that he had heard what William said, had registered it, and that he had grudgingly found some small amount of approval in his actions. He was looking rather morose. Unfortunately for him, William was not in a hand-holding mood. The adrenaline rush had not quite dissipated and he was still a little tense.

"What's wrong with you?" he snapped. "God, your face is tripping you!"

"It was all for nothing," Leon replied, running a weary hand through his hair. "I-I didn't get any of the information I was supposed to find…"

"Information like what?" William asked, suddenly intrigued.

"Just general information on HCF. Branch locations, that sort of thing - not that it's any of your business…"

"If I'm right about what you are neglecting to tell me, you mean information on the whereabouts of my daughter - and, if I am right, then it is _very much_ my business," William said matter-of-factly, turning to face Leon.

This time, it was Leon's turn to look away. "What does it matter? I didn't get anything. I had my chance and I blew it."

Silence descended once again, an awkward silence in which the younger man tried to come to terms with his failure and the older man was struggling with himself, wondering whether he should do what he was about to do. They crossed the road of the deserted rue St. Augustin - for such streets were not known for their night life - and were just about to reach the Metro station. Revenge was not easy, as he had discovered. He would need all the help he could get.

"Ah, to hell with it…" he sighed, as he stopped and started rummaging around in his bag.

"What're you doing?" Leon asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Got it," William said, pulling out the CD he had burned in Gangloff's office and handing it to Leon.

"What's this?"

"When you ran into me on the top floor, I got caught in the general manager's office," he confessed, with an exasperated sigh. "All the fuss you caused downstairs gave me a chance to look around at some of the files she had in her computer. I burned them onto a CD. I haven't had a chance to look at anything yet, so most of it will probably be sales figures and things like that, but there should be something of note in there. I-I also grabbed a few interesting files," he continued, faltering for a moment as Leon fixed him with an incredulous stare, "amongst them evidence that HCF International are currently holding my daughter at their London branch. It also gives a location of…" he trailed off, now rather annoyed at Leon who was gaping openly at him. "What?" he snapped, throwing his hands in the air. "What is it now?"

"God, man," Leon replied with a huge grin. "No wonder she was pissed…"

William didn't know what to say to that, so he decided just to sigh pointedly and fold his arms.

"Could I have a look at this?" Leon said eagerly, waving the CD case.

"I don't see why not, if you have a laptop…"

"It's back at the hotel."

"Christ…"

"You're coming whether you like it or not, Birkin."

"Did I say I wasn't going to come?"

"Just shut up and walk."

The two men were about to descend the stone steps to the Metro, when Leon held out an arm to stop William.

"WHAT?" William yelled, almost at his wits' end.

"I think you'd better take off that trench coat…" Leon said, with a grin.

* * *

AN: In order of the review board, big thanks go to: Hello Captain, RamenKitty, CassSpaz, TheDonutMistress and the Scarlet Shade. You all rocketh muchly - especially Hello Captain and RamenKitty, whose Birkin-fics I always come back and read when I'm not updating mine (which is most of the time really, heh...).

About Sherry. I'm not quite sure why William wants to go get her. I don't even think he's sure himself. It's possibly because she _is_ his, and it's the only thing left of his old life that he can salvage. I'm not sure what kind of reaction he's going to get if and when he finds her, either. It should be interesting...

Anyway, thanks for reading. If you've made it this far, well done. You deserve a medal. I don't have any on me, but you deserve one.

- Ada K.


	6. Chapter Six

In Esse In Perpetuum

Chapter Six

* * *

_AN: This is dedicated to The Captain herself, my comrade-in-arms, and her alterego, Violet. One and the same, yet poles apart. _

_The only reason this is here is down to the Captain. She inspired me to get off my arse and write something. I put it off for a bit because I'm currently blundering my way through a dissertation, but Birkin-fic goodness was calling me. And besides, writing fanfiction is so much more fun. So here it is, for your delectation, after a ridiculously long period of time: chapter six. _

_Also, please remember I started writing this thing long before RE4 was released. If there are discrepancies, just ignore them. I'm a bit busy right now and, to be honest, can't be arsed editing right now. _

_I will explain myself in my author's notes at the end... grin>_

* * *

On the top floor of HCF headquarters, Paris, Albert Wesker stood over the mangled corpse of the late Maude Gangloff, surveying it with a cool eye. She had clearly been dispatched at point-blank range with a weapon of slightly more power than the average handgun, judging by the gaping, ragged hole the bullet had blasted in her chest. 

He stepped forward, his boots crunching on the shards of broken glass that were practically floating in the pool of blood, made slick and black by the eerie blue floor-light, and bent down to have a closer look.

He had been speaking to her not twenty minutes earlier when that insufferable cowboy Agent Kennedy had shown up and had started blasting his way through the building. Gangloff had made straight for the CCTV room to track and radio out Kennedy's every move whilst Wesker and the security guards, under his command, went after him. At one point, they had had him cornered, but he had escaped into an air vent. Of course, they had attempted to go in after him, but Wesker was content to radio Gangloff and wait for a location.

The reply had never come, however, and, seconds later he had descended to the monitor room to check on Gangloff after sending his men out in teams to scour the premises for Agent Kennedy and his sidekick. She had gone but had left behind a shotgun case. Unconcerned (not least due to the fact that Gangloff was infinitely capable of taking care of herself, being an ex-hired hand) he had sat down and switched the screens to display images from the upper floor. He had watched impassively as Gangloff soundlessly pursued a trench-coated man with a shotgun, blasting away like an absolute lunatic. With a ghost of a smile, he had watched as Gangloff was about to corner the man at the elevator - and with a raised eyebrow, he had watched as the tables had turned. The elevator door had opened, the man had disappeared into it, Gangloff had taken aim and then...

...and then the gun had flown out of her hands and right into the assailant's before he made his final, fatal retort as the elevator doors closed. Curious, he had wound back the tape and watched the incident again. Twice. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would, no doubt, have dismissed it entirely as an idiotic and fanciful fabrication. But Albert Wesker never doubted himself.

Wesker straightened up abruptly and headed towards Gangloff's office, trailing bloody footprints across the glass floor in the darkness. For a fleeting moment his mouth twisted sardonically as he thought of what the view of the carnage would be like from the floor below, a viscous pool of black blood blossoming from a mutilated cadaver already reeking of blood and bone. Perhaps, if he had time, he would take a look...

Carefully, he opened the door and entered, surveying his surroundings without a flicker of emotion. The office was almost a write-off, with several holes blasted in the walls, the desk and the ceiling where Gangloff had been a little too enthusiastic. The filing cabinets had been tipped over, their contents spilling out across the floor in a sea of paper. It was obvious that there had been a struggle. Silently, he picked his way through the wreckage and moved over to the desk. He stopped short. There was a window flashing on the computer screen that read: File Transfer Complete. Gangloff wouldn't have done it - couldn't have done it. She wouldn't have had time. It couldn't have been Kennedy either. It must have been that Trench Coat man who had been picked up by the cameras - more than likely the same Trench Coat Killer who had been demonised and plastered all over the French newspapers for shooting Sidney Parker-Jones. It was far too much of a coincidence for it to be otherwise...

Wesker didn't even look up as two of his men entered the room.

"Yes, gentlemen?" he enquired, his tone unfathomable.

"Sir, we've carried out a full search of the building," one of them answered, saluting smartly, "and there is no sign of either of the intruders. We think they may have escaped via..."

Wesker waved a gloved hand, and the guard stuttered into silence. "I did not expect them to linger," he said derisively. "Get down to the basement and have the security tapes ready. Bring them straight up here. I want to get a closer look at them."

"Yes, sir," the two men nodded before marching out - leaving Wesker sitting at the flickering computer screen alone.

It was obvious why they had come. They had come for information, this mysterious Trench Coat man and Leon Kennedy. And they had succeeded, or so it appeared. Exactly what they had managed to get their hands on, however, he wasn't sure, but he knew that it could potentially be a setback for HCF...

"Sir?"

One of the guards had returned and was hovering nervously upon the threshold. By way of enquiry, Wesker raised an eyebrow and folded his arms, though this only served to make the guard more nervous and he thrust out a phone with one trembling hand.

"T-there's a call for you, sir. It's urgent," the guard said quickly.

Wesker strode over to him and snatched the phone out of his hands. The guard flinched. "That will be all," he said, quietly. Fortunately, his tone was not lost on the guard who practically ran out of the room after being dismissed. He raised the phone to his ear to hear a very familiar voice...

"Wesker?"

"Affirmative," Wesker replied, lazily.

"I want the short version."

"Two intruders managed to infiltrate the Paris HQ, one apparently acting as a decoy while the other stole information. As to what has been stolen and how much, I cannot ascertain - and you may have to find a new general manager," he finished wryly, a cold smirk drifting across his face.

There was silence for a moment on the other end of the line. Then...

"Find them and eliminate them, Wesker, by any means necessary. You know what is at stake here." The speaker paused for a second or two before adding, "There can be no complications."

"Affirmative," Wesker replied, before the speaker hung up without further comment.

For a moment he simply stood there, having been given his orders, lost in thought. Then, his smirk spread into a grim smile. So, he was to hunt them down, to search and destroy: both cowboy Kennedy and the equally irksome Trench Coat man. Finally, he had an order that he would take a _great deal_ of pleasure in carrying out. They may have gotten the better of Gangloff, but they would not find him such easy-pickings.

There was a tentative knock on the door, and one of the guards he had sent to collect last night's CCTV footage entered, setting the box of disks down on the desk with his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. He left as quickly and as unobtrusively as he entered. The corners of Wesker's mouth twisted upward and he picked up a disk with a gloved hand and fed it into Gangloff's computer. Almost immediately, he skipped forward to the footage of the Trench Coat man sitting cross-legged on the floor, flicking through folders of files. The picture quality was lamentable, and the man was sitting with his back to the camera. The rest of the footage yielded no better results.

But no matter. There were a few other disks to try. His hand hovered over the one marked: Ground Floor and Reception Area. He slotted it into the D: drive. Skipping forward past hours of footage from the earlier half of the day, after a few minutes, he found what he'd been looking for. He watched himself enter the building with his escort and call the elevator that had taken him to Gangloff. About half an hour later, the front doors opened and the Trench Coat man stepped into reception, walking over to the computer and browsing the contents on the screen. Wesker made a mental note to ensure the receptionist lost her job - and, perhaps, if the offence proved suitably grave, her head...

Then Wesker's train of thought was abruptly derailed. His eyes narrowed curiously as he leaned forward and watched the Trench Coat man coming closer and closer to the camera. His lips curled in a wry smile.

Imbecile... Yes, that's right. Look right up into the camera and your fate will be completely and utterly sealed...

Then the smile on his face faltered. Not taking his eyes off the screen, he paused the footage and looked upon the face of a man he hadn't seen in eight years - one he had never counted upon seeing ever again. He took in the sandy-coloured hair, the pale, drawn features and the thin twist of a mouth. He noted, for what seemed like the thousandth time, the man's strange, watery blue eyes - appearing normal enough to those who did not know him better, but disguising, with the thinnest of veils, the devastatingly fierce and ruthless genius that, like a dark mirror of Midas, transformed everything it touched for better or worse.

He let the footage roll on and watched as one moment, William Birkin was standing there, peering up at the camera, and the next, the screen went blank. The footage ended there and the disk ejected itself from the drive. Wesker didn't pick it up. Instead he sat there, with his chin resting on his gloved hand. He was thinking.

However improbable it was that Birkin was alive (having worked for Umbrella, impossible was a word that rarely, if ever, passed his lips), alive his old colleague was. It was an unexpected twist, but one that Wesker, if he put his mind to it, could use to his advantage.

The samples he and Agent Wong had collected from the wreckage of the train, along with his other acquisition, had been sent to HCF immediately. Unfortunately, the G Virus had proven to be ridiculously unstable and the practicalities of testing the virus on subjects meant that all experimentation had been ceased. It had taken a massive amount of explosive firepower to end the infected test subjects, and after the exposure of Umbrella, locating secure testing grounds had begun to prove a taxing enterprise, even for the most well-connected of executives. Wesker had known in his bones then that something was amiss.

HCF had then turned to his other acquisition from Raccoon City: Annette Birkin. They had locked the woman in her cell and had subjected her to all manner of interrogative tortures. She was numb and broken, a shell of her former self, but still she refused to talk. Her loyalty to her husband went beyond all rational thought or feeling. And as far as he knew, HCF were still trying to get her to talk. It all boiled down to the simple fact that they needed her knowledge of the G Virus. Annette had been the only person William had allowed to work in conjunction with him on his pet project - and towards the end, the two had collaborated in almost total seclusion. It did not take a huge leap of the imagination to realise that she would have known its properties almost as intimately as William had, and, as such, would have proven useful to the company.

But she would not talk.

This, however, no longer mattered. For now there was a more than adequate replacement in the form of the creator of the G Virus himself.

Wesker's orders were to eliminate Agent Kennedy and the individual he had ever-so-briefly known as the Trench Coat man, but he felt that it would be rather more advantageous if he, rather than getting rid of Birkin, were to deliver him right to the door of the Corporation. HCF was becoming stale. A breath of fresh air was sorely needed.

Perhaps Annette Birkin would prove useful after all...

* * *

William had been pouring over the files he'd recovered from Madame Gangloff's office for what felt like hours in Leon Kennedy's cramped, musty-smelling hotel room. The only light emanated from a sickly, single light bulb and squinting to read in the dim glow had taken its toll on his eyes. They felt hot and itchy and his head had begun to ache. Leon appeared to feel the same, and it was mutually (but unspokenly) decided that they would take a break. William surrendered the wad of cash he had taken from Leon's case earlier on in the day so that he could phone out for food. Two and a half hours later (for Paris being one of the world's most famous and vibrant cities, it had proven bewilderingly difficult to find a place that would deliver at two o'clock in the morning) their food arrived and Leon tucked into his chow mien with gusto. William, however, poked his around for a bit with the chopsticks that had come with it, had a few mouthfuls, and left the rest untouched. After his long sojourn in the stasis tube at the Umbrella lab, he still wasn't up to eating much at all.

When Leon was finished, the conversation, slowly but surely, once again made its way back to their one common interest...

"And Yoko Suzuki testified," Leon said, with a huge grin. "Brought the whole operation down in one go. But it was really curtains when Alyssa Ashcroft sold the story to the media. It was public property then, you know?"

"I can imagine," William said with a grim smile.

"Though the only thing is," Leon began, looking discomfited, "why the hell did I find you in an Umbrella lab."

"That," William began thoughtfully, "is a very good question. It was perfectly evident that the place was fully operational. After all, until... well... until _recently_ it was clearly an inhabited, manned research station. There were specimens being grown for manufacture - most notably the T series and the MA3s we ran into on the stairs..."

William paused for a moment, running a thin finger over his lips in a pensive manner. Then, he seemed to come to his own definitive conclusion and added, "I don't think Umbrella are as finished as you would like to think, Mr Kennedy. Not by a long shot. The front men, the executives like Parker-Jones, may be floundering and jostling for power, but you can bet your life on it that Mr Spencer is thriving and still very much at large."

Leon said nothing but William could tell from the look on his face that he knew he was right.

"And if Umbrella are as dead as you seem to think they are," William continued slowly, "then why was Parker-Jones prancing around Paris with his new wife?"

"Not proven," Leon said, his eyes flashing with anger.

"Not proven?" William said, now looking puzzled. "What do you mean not proven? Wasn't he tried?"

"Yeah, he was tried," Leon replied with a little heat, "but the case was transferred from the US Supreme Court to the adjudication of the European Court of Justice because, or so they said, the US was too deeply involved in the case itself to give an impartial verdict." Leon sighed. "They couldn't handle the case personally because the ECJ is only supposed to mediate. So they voted to hand over the case to the Court of Session in Scotland..."

"Who have a "not proven" verdict," William muttered, anticipating the climax of Leon's sordid tale of corporate corruption. "And no doubt those who were charged appealed to the House of Lords?"

"Yeah."

"And got off scot-free? No pun intended..."

"Yeah. Most of them."

"Very clever, Mr Spencer... Very clever, indeed..." William said darkly.

"What, you think Spencer had it all planned out?" Leon asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

William laughed mirthlessly. "I'm not saying he planned it all out, Kennedy, but the man has friends in high places. I don't think he's a master puppeteer, although he certainly has pulled and is probably still pulling a fair amount of strings. No. What he is, is a maverick businessman, the original heartless, opportunistic bastard with brains, cash and political clout who will form useful connections, utilise and even destroy said connections to get what he wants, to damn with the consequences." William paused for a moment, chewing on his lip as he was wont to do while mulling over perplexing conundrums such as Ozwell Spencer, before adding, though it galled him, "Spencer is a very powerful and dangerous man."

Leon shook his head in distaste. Then he stood up and began to pace the length of the cramped hotel room. He gave the bed a frustrated kick as he walked past and a small cloud of dust billowed from the mouldering bed sheets, making William sneeze.

"You know what? I think the only way to get rid of Umbrella once and for all is to get rid of Spencer," Leon announced suddenly, stopping in his tracks. "The only way to kill a snake is to find its head and crush it."

William smiled a humourless smile. "My thoughts exactly, Kennedy. Though how do you propose to go about it? Spencer is notoriously elusive. I only ever met the man once in all the years I worked from Umbrella."

"I work for the US government," Leon said, waving a hand dismissively. "We should be able to track him down eventually."

"Oh really?" William said, folding his arms across his chest as the corners of his thin mouth formed a scornful smirk. "What a textbook example of the blind faith of the gullible, American federal agent."

"Shut up, Birkin," Leon warned, snapping round on his heel and fixing the scientist with a smouldering glare. "Just shut up..."

But William was just getting started.

"Little baby agent doesn't want to hear unpleasant truths, perhaps?" William asked mockingly. "Would little baby agent prefer to wallow in his filthy mire of self-righteousness and messianic delusions?"

The edges of Leon's cheeks had turned a nasty brick colour. To William's delight, the man was shaking with anger.

_Let's turn it up another notch, shall we? Yes. Let's burst his little protective bubble and see how he fares..._

"Mr Spencer has friends in high places, Kennedy," William hissed. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if a large number of them held prominent positions in the US government. After all, my old _colleague_ Albert Wesker managed to get a transfer to the Intelligence Bureau - a department that reputedly possessed close links with the Central Intelligence Agency."

He paused for a moment to gauge Leon's reaction. The young man's face had gone a sickly pale colour and he had slumped down on the bed, his head in his hands.

That was good. There was absolutely no point in having a potential ally who did not understand the full gravity of the situation. Yes, it might be painful, but sacrifices had to be made if one was to experience true enlightenment. It was always the way. The baptism of fire, so to speak...

"In fact," William continued casually, "the US government had such intimate connections with Umbrella that I was able to contact them in 1998. Like Wesker, I wanted out of Umbrella. They offered me five hundred thousand US dollars a year if I came to work for them, four point five billion for the virus itself, and enough money to buy anonymity for myself and my family for the rest of our lives."

"No..." Leon breathed, staring, unseeing at the floor. "They wouldn't..."

"They would," William said curtly, supremely irritated that Leon refused to accept the truth. "The bio weapons market is extraordinarily competitive. The US Army must have seen some merit in attaining the virus, otherwise they wouldn't have been quite so generous. It's also cut-throat, back-stabbing and utterly ruthless. Spencer may have good friends within the US government, but that didn't stop them from trying to get a hold of me..."

William trailed off. It was clear he had done enough. Leon was clutching at handfuls of his hair and he was shaking slightly. His silence spoke volumes. But Leon was not the only one left feeling a little out of sorts. Telling Kennedy about what had happened prior to Raccoon had opened up unwelcome old wounds that stung bitterly and penetrated deep; wounds that he knew would never fully heal, even if he had all the time in the universe at his disposal. The horribly familiar feelings of guilt, hot anger and shame twisted his insides, and he sat there on the floor of the hotel room staring resolutely at the floor, letting said feelings run their course because he was certain that it would forever remain beyond his power to push them aside for even a moment.

For what felt like hours, the two men endured their own private torments in silence. Kennedy said nothing. William said nothing. Neither of them looked at one another until an alert sounded on Leon's laptop that informed him he had mail.

Leon turned his head round to face the source of the noise with a bitter smile.

"That'll be Hunnigan," he said, leaning over and lifting the laptop onto his lap.

A few seconds later, however, his expression gave away the fact that it wasn't who he had expected.

"What the—?"

William raised his eyes from the mildewed carpet and took in Leon's surprised and bewildered expression. Something was not right...

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's for you," Leon said hesitantly, slowly, as though he were afraid that someone was hiding behind the door and could hear every word he was saying. He kept glancing at the fire escape doors.

"You're joking?" William said, a terribly palpable sense of apprehension beginning to creep its way into the confines of his mind.

Leon shook his head. He handed the laptop over to William, who set it down on the floor and began to read the e-mail Kennedy had received. Leon stood up and, very calmly, reached under the bed and pulled out the cases he had brought with him. He wrote something down on a piece of paper, folded it and slipped it to William, who took it, shooting an inquiring look at the younger man.

"I'll be back in a minute," he said, giving him a significant look. "I'm just going to get something from the other room."

And then he left with the two cases, closing the door behind him with a muted click.

Alone in the room, William blinked owlishly, took a deep breath and began to read.

"This is not for you, Agent Kennedy, but I am afraid it is the only way that I shall be able to reach young William. Being an individual possessed of such a curious nature, you will no doubt read this before him, but I would very much appreciate if you passed along the message.

Now, William, my wayward son, I shall make this brief because both yourself and Agent Kennedy are in, shall we say, rather grave danger.

First, however, I must confess that you disappointed me with your little antics regarding the US government, and for that reason, you must understand why I had to curb your freedom. I allowed you far too much, and you were becoming positively spoiled. I sincerely hope that the events of Raccoon have taught you a lesson in loyalty and humility and that you will make the right decision when the time comes.

Ideally, I would desire to place further stress on the above, however, necessity dictates that I must inform you of the presence of one Agent Jack Krauser right outside your hotel room window. He is preparing to eliminate Agent Kennedy and to take you prisoner on behalf of HCF International.

This cannot happen. Both you and Agent Kennedy must make your escape. There will be a helicopter prepared for your arrival at my hangar at Beauvais airport.

Regards,

Ozwell."

By all accounts, William should have been incensed at the audacity of the man in thinking that he could still manipulate him; at his arrogance; at his condescending, oh-so-self-assured insolence; at his mockingly paternal tone; at his quiet but overwhelming confidence that everything would go according to his plan; and at the fact that this was the man who was ultimately responsible for everything that had ever went wrong in his entire life.

But William wasn't angry.

Instead, he started to laugh. It came gradually at first, in fits and starts. Then it washed over him, the floodgates opened and he couldn't stop. It was the sweetest, most perfect release. He was vindicated. He was vindicated, and it hadn't all been for nothing. At a stroke, it had all become hilariously clear.

Spencer had realised. He had realised and he wanted the G Virus. There had only been two people in the world who knew where it had been hidden. Annette was gone. She was gone and he was the only one left. No doubt they had extracted samples after recovering him from the wreckage of Raccoon, but they would have found nothing useful. Just as Albert had done for HCF, no doubt.

Albert Wesker, on their last fateful meeting before the Arklay incident of July 24, 1998, had warned him that Umbrella did not play games. Not with anyone. Little did he know, however, was the fact that William Birkin had not only been playing games with Umbrella, but had continued playing right up until his assassination in September.

There had only been two people in the world who knew where it had been hidden, and he had hidden it very well, indeed. As if he would have created something as unstable as the G prototype he had, in a fit of madness and intent on retribution, injected himself with! No. The finalised G Virus had more subtle, more profound effects...

Yes.

William Birkin was _very much_ looking forward to meeting his old colleague again.

He was still on the floor laughing when Kennedy came back in, tears streaming down his cheeks. Then a hail of bullets came shrieking through the glass doors and he felt the younger man dragging him bodily out of the room, slamming the door shut behind them. He was shoved unceremoniously down a flight of stairs and they made their escape through the front doors. There was a car waiting outside, the engine thrumming impatiently, ready to screech off at high-speed. The door was open and he was thrown in. A split-second later, Kennedy dived into the passenger seat and snatched up his pistol from its holster.

"Take us to George's place, John! And step on it!" he yelled, training the gun out the window in the direction the gunfire had come from.

The wheels screeched and the car took off, which was fortunate, because seconds later, the whole place exploded.

* * *

_First thing's first: Annette Birkin. Why? Because this is my "fun project" and I'm an incredibly selfish person when it comes to "fun projects". I had this idea of her writhing around, as mad as a hyena on crack, in a cell in some shady, underground HCF cell and it had to be done. No question. So I decided to use Leon A/Claire B, even though I believe that the canon ending (as much as anything in RE can be called canon) is a mixture of each Leon and Claire scenario. Besides, the bit when Sherry comes across her mum on the catwalk is priceless. I like a bit of emotional agony, especially when I get to write it. _

_Secondly: Wesker is the only living sample of the G-Virus? Why? To that I say: "why not?" I think that'd be a pretty good plot twist if I was writing for Capcom ahem> _

_Thirdly: Hoped you liked it. And thanks again to the legendary Hello Captain. Go read "A Hymn for the Things we Didn't Do." It rocketh muchly. _


End file.
